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THE UNIVERSITY 
OF ILLINOIS 
LIBRARY 


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nd eae 
tages 


MY LIFE 
AS AN 


EXPLORER 


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Spach 
1 f 


Ashe 


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4 
¢ 


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THE UBRARY 
OF THE 
UILVERSHTY OF ILLINOIS 


(ror a6vd aas) LASNAS AHL ISNIVOV FLLANOWTIS dUVHS V SV AIGISIA SVM LNAL AHL ‘HLVGd 40 dWVO FHL LY AONVIO LSVT V 


EN: 


MY LIFE 


AS AN 


EXPLORER 


SVEN HEDIN 


Illustrated by the Author 


Translated by 
ALFHILD HUEBSCH 


NEW YORK 
BONI & LIVERIGHT 
3 Bek he a 


corynion ae 


i“ Viz oo a C \ i 


TO 
THE MEMORY 


OF 
MY BELOVED MOTHER 


‘do-00 SETQhL “B2IUDIDE Kavagry 


CHAPTER 


II. 
Ili. 
IV. 

No 


NI. 
VIL. 
VII, 
DX 
x 
XI. 
XII. 
XIII. 
XIV. 
XV. 


RYAN. L. 
XVII. 


XVIII. 
XIX. 
XX. 
XXI. 
0.65 F 
XXIII. 
XXIV. 
XXV. 
XXVI. 
XXVII. 
XXVIII. 
XXIX. 
XXX. 
XXXI. 
XXXII. 
XXXII. 


CONTENTS 


How Ir Att BEGAN 

ACROSS THE ELBURZ RANGE TO TEHERAN . 

On HorseBACK THROUGH PERSIA 

THROUGH MESOPOTAMIA TO BAGDAD 

AN ADVENTUROUS RIDE THROUGH 
PERSIA . 

CONSTANTINOPLE : ‘ 

AN AMBASSADOR TO THE SHAH 0 OF PERSIA : 

A BuRIAL-GROUND . 

To THE Top oF DEMAVEND . 

THROUGH KHORASAN, THE LAND c OF THE ‘Sun 

MESHHED, THE CiTy OF MARTYRS . 

BOKHARA AND SAMARKAND 

INTO THE HEART oF ASIA . 

WITH THE EMIR OF BOKHARA .. 
Two THousanp MILES IN A CARRIAGE-——-A Win- 
TER RIDE ON THE “ROOF OF THE WORLD” 

WITH THE KIRGHIZ . 
My STRUGGLE WITH THE UP arHER OF THE Tee 
MOouNTAINS”’ , 
I APPROACH THE DESERT 
THE SAND-SEA : 
THE CARAVAN MEETS WITH (Disren! 
Tue Last Days 
ROBINSON CRUSOE 
SECOND EXPEDITION TO THE : PAMIRS : 
I DiscoOvER 2000-YEAR-OLD CITIES IN THE DESERT 
THe WILD CAMELS’ PARADISE . 
RETREATING [TWELVE HUNDRED Mixes 
A DETECTIVE-STORY FROM THE HEART OF ASIA . 
My First Entry INto TIBET . ! 
Witp Asses, WiLtp YAKS, AND MoncoLtaNs : 
IN THE LAND OF THE TANGUT ROBBERS 
ON TO PEKING 
BACK TO THE Deserts! 
Our LIFE ON THE LARGEST RIVER IN THE VERY 
PIPARTIORCASIALE Wan tue dha eml aoe kly 
v 


WESTERN 


CHAPTER 


XXXIV. 
XXXV. 


XXXVI. 


XXXVII. 
XXXVIII. 


XLVII. 
XLVIIL. 
XLIX. 


CONDTEN Ts 


STRUGGLING WITH THE ICE. . 

A  Hazarpous JOURNEY Across THE GREAT 
DESERT . 

We DIScoOvVER AN ANCIENT Crry IN THE tee 
DESERT . : 

Our FINAL WEEKS ( ON THE ‘Beancuine aRint ; 

ADVENTURES IN EASTERN TIBET 

A DEATH-STREWN RETREAT : 

THROUGH THE GoBI DESERT Witnovut WATER : 

LOU-LAN, THE SLEEPING TOWN 

Back To HicuH TIBET : 

Towarp LHASA DISGUISED AS A “Pincrm ; 

A PRISONER OF THE TIBETANS . 

STOPPED BY AN ARMED FORCE . : 

TurouGH TIBET To INDIA, AND Back: TO TIBET : 

FIGHTING Four GOVERNMENTS 

STORMY JOURNEYS BY WATER . 

MARCHING WITH DEATH THROUGH Norruees 
TIBET 

THROUGH THE LARGE WHITE Spor-—“UNex- 
PLORED” : 

THE PILGRIMS’ JourNEY ON THE Hory RIVER 

WITH THE TasHt LAMA AT THE NEW-YEAR FEs- 
TIVAL 

Our EXPERIENCES IN TASH aN Ee AND SHIGATSE 

STRANGE MONASTERIEFS—WALLED-IN Monks 

New TRANS-HIMALAYA PAssEsS—MOHAMMED Isa’s 
Last JOURNEY 

Tue DISCOVERY OF THE sah OF THE Beaune 
PUTRA . 

MANASAROVAR, THE Hoty Thee 

Rakas-TAL, THE DeEviL’s LAKE 

FRoM THE Hoty MOouUNTAIN TO THE SOURCE OF 
THE INDUS . : 

DESPERATE WINTER Weyer IN Nowra pee Tenet 

I BECOME A SHEPHERD . 

A TIBETAN CAPTIVE AGAIN : 

New TRAVELS THROUGH THE Trion acre ‘ 

To InpIA 


PAGE 


267 


274 


233 
293 
300 
310 
318 
325 
331 
342 
352 
360 
368 
S70 
383 


395 


406 
415 


421 
4.30 
438 


449 


455 
461 
468 


472 
480 
489 
499 
512 
521 


COLORED ILLUSTRATIONS 


‘A’ LasexGlimpse at the. Camp of: Death. 080) ey a ke yen,d romtes piece 


FACING PAGE 


Entrance Gate to the Palace of Xerxes, Persepolis . . . . . . ~~ 36 
watmarkand, )he.Blue City. of Damerlane sia ois ee re Q6 
Ane ientiyval, OLnINATIVEST i) FD ab Rm unre Ue MS Ras i OORT Ds A ee oR 
The Crowds at the Losar Festival . . WE LE tes: 
The “Lhakang” or Great Hall in the Monastery he Hatin plGonive mucins? 
‘The Most Sacred Mountain in the World, Kang-Rinpoche, or the Ice Jewel 478 
Shigatse-Dsong on its Isolated Little Rock Outside the City of Shigatse . . 422 


ILLUSTRATIONS IN BLACK AND WHITE 


PAGE 
Moscow . . PEL A Seem Rees RU ec Ae 17 
The Military Read eas the ecan pice LANA GS 65: 
Kasbek, 16,530 Feet High, One of the Highest Peaks a the Chiat ie ai melas ae: 
Apsheron . . ois is | ae UT SLE A We” (Hg PG) hg Me CTeMeny LT Lh T 
Oil-well in Teas eae SIMERTSL yet SCS UES eT SRC M a deni Ra ca era RM De 
A Blazing Lake of Crude Oil PE SSG gt RRR Ud MER OMS SOT: SUSE rape EE 
Vo Mosdue ‘inw Resht)) s.3 ass eae ares sted al hee ginal Me Mag ann ph 
Across the Elburz Mountain in a Shuuetorn SE aM ert eee a Mae Reet ROE 
In the Rest-house of Masra . . MAUMEE Gis ars ig LPC Ae GC Ut Meek 
The Tomb of the Holy Fatima in oe LARGEST: Oh Dear al a a A em MRR 
The Royal Mosque of Ispahan ... So de RRS Le Pe CMR baie MN ae 
Yesdikast, Built on the Top of an Peoiated Rock Vea hig thee he ee hee 
ember Ob Mata: Or thet Ores (lel Up aay i PE AVA in PEN RR TN eT 
Hyenas Feasting on a Dead Camel . . Wel hich ic Mele Pia Nonny 
The Wealthy Arabian Merchant, Aga Mohabiied ay Receives Me 
with Great Hospitality . . . aR ae EE SO Nuit SAR SURE HE HLA 
Human Corpses, on Their Way to Kerhels Ae kal A OP i EL a a Lean! 
The Greek Bishop . . dy lain aie san Ah mate Nai) A Mid 
Abdul Hamid II, the Late Site ¥. the Turks pie dae Chu? ae LS eae A a“ 
Entering Kazvin . SPENT UR mee SE har Or RE Minors NO 
Nasr-ed-Din, Late Shah or ine of Rati hes SAMO ree Bly Pa Os 
Top of Demavend. ‘The Crater of the Volcano Visible. Saieehdam 8,700 3 
COCR I Mas 2 Tarit\es 9) Bist aRpIRMRaT TRE ue Lan) were A RAN yet aac SEL RY RT ROT oes 


Vil 


Vill ILLUSTRATIONS 


Down the Snow-covered Slope of Demavend . . . ... e« « + 

The Mongols Plundering and Burning Khorasan . . . ... « 

Oprum-smokers in: Sabzevans) 2000) 0.4.5), ON ee 

Route: from Teheran td) Kaahkaa seni bie!) 6: ge 

A Turkoman. . PE Ae RO Se Sw CAA I GT Ge ee 

Mollahs—Old Wise Priests eae Wits hen! hig Ve) iaitia ii OU ea mae Mane 

An? Old? Tajik’ of Bokbararnn i). (ese)... . Sus letonce Samer pL cel Ute 

A Story-teller in, Bokhata yi fo giy icine (4) needa SO eae Ren gta en 

The Tomb of Tamerlane ‘ fs een 

A Kirghiz at Irkeshtam, on the Bader Been gees and Chinese 
Territory. RN RN ei ae A 

Hindu Merchant in peniass 

The Ponies Had to Jump into the Ie aie as We Cranes he Half. 
frozen Rivers ag SD te a SOA Aerie ie a 

A Terrible Accident at N ches in he ee Fs 

A Dervish in Turkestan Her 

Said Abdul Ahad, Emir of Bukhact 

Persia 

One of Our Tote F ell Downe to the Bocee a ie Valley ae Was Killed 
Immediately : 

Twice I Tried to Ascend he Mustaene ata, or “The mae a ae toe 
Mountains” EU Se Ree Pete eR Wa 

An Orchestra in Kstesel ; 

Difficult Passage Between Perpendicular Rocks OTD Prva OHI 

Two Kirghiz Boys . . Si peteelBG Nee Uo iat 

Saving a Yak That Had Fallen into a Dien Oreice +e fk ome 

A Hurried Retreat in a Snow-storm Down the Slopes of eo ata 

Our “Boat” on the Little Kara-kul, Eastern Pamir 

Bokhara ‘and Russian’ Durkestan (5 7) 74), a ety re ee 

Criminals Forced to Tell the Truth 

Some of Our Camels Going Down a Sand Dune at Sine 

Holding Up the Tent to Get a Few Drops of Rain Water 

Working Our Way Through the Sandstorm RESET a GA A 

All, Men and Camels, Were Dying from Thirst . . . . . . « 


Kasim and I Creeping and Struggling for Life . . iN ae 
A Dark Line of Forest Far Away Inspired Us With New Hone OR sy Sk 
I Crept, Dying, Through the Forest in Search of Water . ... .. . 
The Pool Which Saved My Life . . . Same ey a ee 


I Made a Large Fire to Attract the Aecaton of Kasim: 54 egies tcl te 
Ahmed | Mergen, the )Huriter).) go oicad (ie eh iy a5) he i eee nn tie 
March: of ‘the’ Caravan 75 (8/5 "abs Wel haat a0 | ie a 


PAGE 
75 
78 
83 
84 
88 
90 
gI 
92 
94 


98 


99 


102 
105 
106 
107 
108 


114 


122 
124 
125 
128 
131 
133 
135 
137 
140 
I51 
152 
155 
158 
164 
167 
168 
170 
172 
177 
179 


ICLUSTRATIONS ix 


PAGE 


A Kirghiz Mother with Her Child . .. . : Dah op 
Dost Mohamed Khan, an Afghan Officer Belonging to elie British Guaede ve 193 
aierritstavviud Camels We Cameracrossys) (Rie ee) ee ga 
The City Gate of Kara-Shahr. . . MRE LAY Sen a PL OO 
Kunchekkan Bek, or ‘“The Chief of the Rae Sun,” a Former Friend of 
Prahevalsky,; Who BecamesNiy Friend? 270 Seer ne ernie 30% 
Natrow,; Dark Corridors in’ the Reed-thickets “00 os 203 


Our Passage Blocked by Reeds . . Miretthatie a str eis 2O4 
A “Taghlik” or Mountain Inhabitant of Dilae eee STEN Near arene r wiih auc) rake 
The Caravan Attacked by a Storm of Hail and Rain . . . . . . 217 
AYWild Yak Charging Our. Dogs. +. *. +. 222 
An “QObo” of 49 Stone Slabs with the Sacred THeesintiog to site Suite ie 

the Mountains : a eas 


“Gao” Boxes, which the MonEols Hine Pea Their Necks ig bul NOR Sinai no? oe 
Tangut Bandits Creeping Around Our Camp at Night . . . . . . 233 


In the Ice of the River . . RRR CGR ny unin gt! Pee hot TIN AG ea nn OD Bg 
My Mule-litter Arriving in Peking Tra 2 ere (RON Ath ane ea 
Crossing a Bridge in a Small Village Outside of fade ieee Pale at lee ao 
A Herd of Wild Pigs . . . Stier gl alt, eh tee ete es Tee ci nce Ses 
Going Full Speed with the Strong Cactent oe oe Bids Macias etl wihie Lt. 
Natives Watching Our Barge on Its Way Down tte River Pee M ae tete ZOk 
Caught in an Iron Trap . . BPRS CN ISn I Gran Te BO ak WU eur rem tae ee 
Fishing from Canoes Through Thin ie Woe area ie gaenomente ere ohn eg SNE COUR 
Chinese Turkestan . . 266 
The Barge Rushing Full Sad Govard a Palen eee Onserucene: Part bt 

the’ River «5.0. PAU tun te rene Ome U0 we eG 


A “Bek,” or Chief, iene rae His Ginoes EO OH e Tie Me Hem RnR LOE Ue ants aC 
‘Tvorot) My. Men’ on the vIce of One of the Lakes’. 38.00) 8 273 
Camping Near the Bank of the Konche-daria . . . . . . . . 284 
Camel Being Led in the Deep, Wind-carved Furrows . . . . . . 288 
Retrect Asia oawing Positian tor Libel. te te Se Me le) Pee 299 
Wild Asses at the Age of a Week or Two 2) 2 oe a 303 


A Herd of “Orongo” Antelopes . . Peewee te a tne Me oe RS 
The Grave of Aldat in the Solitude of Tibet PA WOH PNG IE gh Ee eT Si 
Wild Sheep of Tibet... . 316 


Buddhas Carved in Wood, Rachels Detorsiny a aTteipele in uae ee iis 9 
The Remains of a House, in Lou-lan, About 1,650 Years Old . . . 323 
Part of the Gobi Desert and Eastern Tibet . . . A aM) Tes 
Lou-Lan: A Letter on Paper and Two Receipts on Wi coi he A. D. RO ea. 
An Old Bear Heading for Our Camp .. . CL ah are ek ae het a gy 
Se Tiel OR AM ula chk mls waa e ie WAR aap 


x DE OS RiAck TONS 


Attacked by Robbers, Who Stole Two of Our Best Horses . 

Riding Through the Pouring Rain oleae ge anes 

Crossing a Big River in Pouring Rain : 

The Great Tea Caravan. Everything Was lade ve Mea the ane the 
Rifles ‘ Ras ae: en ee 

A Plastic Representation i “A VisnnEse erature a Tibet 

The Tibetans Charged Straight Down upon Us x 

Kamba Bombo, Accompanied by 67 Men on Horseback — 

A Bear Digging Up a Marmot-hole 

ishasavand. Route; tor India nei wis iret fee sen etek a aa 

A Herd of ‘Goa’ Gazelles 

Testing the Strength of the Ice ? 

Camels Crossing the Big Boulders Along the Nesthest Shere . Danencgange 

The Road to Ladak Through Tibet wikia tel gah edatemaie: 

Sailing Across a Strange Lake at Night : 

We Had to Jump into the Water and Haul the ee AoE 

We Used the Boat as a Protection Against the Wind 

Wolves Waiting on the Shore . . 

Attacked by Wolves. One of Our Horses Ren Ouek into ie tee and Was 
Drowned VN ee oes. 

Mountain Range ae Pavecal cae He Tibet rales 

The Wounded Wild Yak Came Down from the Steep Glen : 

In Another Moment He Would Have Taken Me and My Pony on His 
Horns : ee MN ks 

The First Nomads We Met ; 

“I Am Very Glad to See You Again, Hedin Sahib, : Said Fre Teenie 

In a Yak-hide Boat on the Upper Brahmaputra PR AK 

Pilgrims on Their Way to the New-Year Festival in Tashi- Pea 

Blowing the Shell Trumpets to Start the Religious Plays 

Three Tombs of ‘Tashi Lamas in Baia 

The Devil Dance 

Steep Staircases and Open lee on he Want to fe Tashi Tarn 

Pilgrims Worshipping at the Tomb of the Fifth Tashi Lama ‘ 

~The Wife of Duke Kung Gushuk and Sister-in-law of the Tashi eee F 

The Holy Lake and the Devil’s Lake Fe tcl ae cell Gk Mee 

Four Lamas Reading the Prayers for the Dead 

The God of the Dead 4 

Nuns in the Convent of Gandanichédine ; 

The Gigantic Cylindrical Prayer Wheel in Tashi- per bs A 

Some of the Golden, Red and Yellow Lacquered Gods in the pepe bes: 
of ‘Tashi-gembe sas Diy Ue coh 


PAGE 
344 
346 
348 


350 
wey 
353 
355 
358 
359 
362 
370 
371 
374 
388 
389 
390 
391 


393 
394 
398 


399 
400 
409 
416 
417 
423 
424, 
425 
427 
431 
433 
437 
438 
439 
440 
441 


442 


ILLUSTRATIONS xi 


PAGE 


A Gigantic Granite Buddha Near Lingo and a Man Sitting Below . . 443 
Mrs. Putin, in the Valley of My-chu, Who Was Supposed to Be a Hee 444 
Singing Lamas in One of the Temple-halls of Linga-gompa . . . . 448 


Samde-puk, a Part of Linga-gompa, Situated High Up in the Valley . . 446 
The Sacred Lama Walking to the Cave Where He Is to Be Immured for 
Cen vest of ii ian her ui iment een ak CTR malt ahyt( (Cd wel (ate 


A Last Glimpse of Daylight . . . 448 
The Gigantic Kubi-gangri Mountains, emnie iGevered ae sia ae 
roger (slaciets 4! ir ek ASO 
The Lamas Making Their Aten with ine Indian MeruenG ae atte ag 
Three Lama Boys . . NR a eA OO) 


The Monastery of Gosul on se Rocks Shore of et Fiely Take Le MERE H ly 
The Twelve-year-old Abbot of Langbo-nan-gompa in His Cell . . . . 469 
The Gigantic Granite Block Beside the Diripu-gompa . . . . . . 473 
The Girls of Shayok Dancing Round the Fire . . UN ede Hera CNC ata need oe 
Our Half-dead Animals Climbing the Pass in Deep Show Pe Poh hw apt MAS ADP eel 
Pimp en ear Mina tniem licen nonOwW i eh: eat cal y fA ee ane eh he AO 
Howto waite lope) taps wre. Constructed | jel iee eo eb) a) cou Ri an eo OO 
Mirlgericceot UNIMne IN aeINPIe MUG I abo. NST ef a Can Te kc eh aOE 
Keeping the Sheep in Order . . 494 
Our Favourite Dog, Left Alone in the Cold Had Pacts Tibetan. Wilden: 495 
Brat koratiaceto poured iver l WO, Wee) cy) ses a ee i, Nev PR eh Oo 
pl akinr Anchored: «wo (iy Pe ae rer Ce RCL Mia De 
The Transhimalaya as Seen ns On Coan UP OR NEA Bik Ab ye CIS at Rd 
Pe everciuvaysert into hue rands 0p oe Oe Be ie Ole Gh oe 806 
The Author in Tibetan Dress . . A Ae cl ey OU ON HR sEsa ce SMS OM ei AMS 
Nima Tashi, the Chief of Our Regbet Geis Cecumit eee ae WA SO vege heme SNES TN BUC) 
Re ee IO LEU MCP IOUS AIT! LIDEt aul aeRO he Lyi ares ula ve ieee Sar eM ele EE 


A’ Group of ‘Tibetans 92. AR SL eae staid 8 
Tagla Tsering and a Few of His Men OF A nN os AANA Oe SAN eM AEC 6 
The Abbot of Selipuk-gompa . . 517 
The Frightened Horse Jumped from ihe Shaky Baiaet into te dante 
River ate PC SUR OUR AY Ge cin ee ae AL BM UE MRS gat SO 
Tibetan Boy from ae West ee rg A HD ee Ae ae er 


ene the Boundary Between Tibet and Tides hp eid AAT AC ee ea eae > 2 


MY. LEE E 
AS AN 


EXPLORER 


OS nine i IR ca n> i a 


ee 
Be Re ary 


MY LIFE AS AN EXPLORER 


Cc ip Kae sl ted Raed ed Rui 
How It All Began 


APPY is the boy who discovers the bent of his life-work 
during childhood. ‘That, indeed, was my good fortune. At 
the early age of twelve, my goal was fairly clear. My 
closest friends were Fenimore Cooper and Jules Verne, 

Livingstone and Stanley, Franklin, Payer, and Nordenskiold, particularly 
the long line of heroes and martyrs of Arctic exploration. Nordenskidld 
was then on his daring journey to Spitsbergen, Nova Zembla, and the 
mouth of the Yenisei River. I was just fifteen when he returned to my 
native city—Stockholm—having accomplished the Northeast Passage. 

In June, 1878, Nordenskidld had sailed from Sweden, in the ‘‘Vega,”’ 
under the command of Captain Palander. He followed the northern 
shores of Europe and Asia, until he became stuck in the ice at the 
extreme eastern end of the Arctic coast of Siberia. ‘The ice held him 
there for ten months. At home, a great anxiety was felt regarding the 
fate of the explorer and his scientific staff and crew. ‘The first move- 
ment looking toward the rescue of the expedition came from the United 
States. James Gordon Bennett, famous for his command to Stanley, 
“Find Livingstone!’’ sent Captain De Long in July, 1879, in the Ameri- 
can ship “Jeannette,” to seek the North Pole, complete the Northeast 
Passage, and attempt to relieve the Swedish expedition. 

Terrible misadventures awaited the Americans. The ‘Jeannette’ 
was wrecked in the ice, and most of the party perished. The “Vega’s” 
ice-bonds loosened, however; and, aided by her steam-power, she passed 
through Bering Strait into the Pacific. ‘The Northeast Passage was 
accomplished with not a man lost. The first cable-message came from 
Yokohama, and I shall never forget the enthusiasm it aroused in Stock- 
holm. 

15 


16 MY (DT RE VAS (ain PX POR BOR 


The voyage home, along the southern shores of Asia and Europe, 
was a journey of triumph beyond comparison. The “Vega” steamed 
into the harbour of Stockholm, on April 24, 1880. The entire city was 
illuminated. Buildings near the water-front were lit up by countless 
lamps and torches. On the Royal Palace, a star, Vega, shone forth 
in bright gas-flames; and amid this sea of lights, the famous ship came 
gliding into the harbour. 

With my parents, sisters, and brother, I enjoyed a view of the 
city from the heights on the south side. I was a prey to the greatest 
excitement. All my life I shall remember that day. It decided my 
career. From the quays, streets, windows, and roofs, enthusiastic cheers 
roared like thunder. And I thought, “I, too, would like to return 
home that way.” 

Thereupon I delved into everything about Arctic expeditions. I read 
books, old and new, on the struggle for the Pole, and drew maps of 
every expedition. During our Northern winters, I rolled about in the 
snow, and slept by open windows, to harden myself. For as soon as 
I should be grown up and ready, and a benevolent Mecenas should 
appear, throwing a bag of gold at my feet, with “Go and find the North 
Pole!’ I was determined to equip my own ship with men, dogs, and 
sleds, and travel through night and ice-fields straight to the point where 
only south winds blow. 

But it was written otherwise in the stars. One spring day, in 1885, 
shortly before I left school, the principal asked me if I would like to 
go to Baku, on the Caspian Sea, to serve for half a year as tutor to a 
boy in a lower class, whose father was chief engineer in the employ of 
the Nobel brothers. I lost no time in accepting. I might have to wait 
a long time for my Mecenas, with his bag of gold. But here was a 
direct offer of a long journey, to the threshold of Asia, which was nat to 
be slighted. ‘Thus Fate led me toward Asiatic highways; and as the 
years ran their course, my youthful dreams about the North Pole 
gradually faded. And for the rest of my life I was to be held by the 
enchanting power that emanates from the largest continent in the 
world. 

During the spring and summer of 1885, I was consumed with im- 
patience for the moment of departure. Already, in imagination, I 
heard the roar of the waves of the Caspian Sea and the clangour of 
caravan-bells. Soon the glamour of the whole Orient was to unfold 


HOG Weel t eAL EBB GAN 17 


before me. I felt as if I possessed the key to the land of legend and 
adventure. A menagerie had just pitched its tents on a lot in Stock- 
holm, and among the animals was a camel from Turkestan. I looked 
upon this camel as a fellow countryman from a distant land, and visited 
him again and again. Before long it would be my opportunity to convey 
greetings to his relatives in Asia. | 

My parents, sisters and brothers were afraid of letting me go on 
such a long journey. But I did not go alone. Not only my pupil, 
but his mother and a younger brother also went along. After a touch- 
ing farewell from my family, we boarded a steamer, which took us 
across the Baltic and the Gulf of Finland. From Kronstadt we saw 
the gilded dome of St. Isaac’s, gleaming like the sun; and a few hours 
later we landed at the Neva Quay in St. Petersburg. 

We had no time to stay. After a few hours in the Czar’s capital, 
we left on the fast train which passed through Moscow on its four-day 


ai 
riage aed] 
‘sania 


mine 


MOSCOW 


hina 


ia ‘Fite 


journey through European Russia to the Caucasus. Endless plains 
rushed by rapidly. We shot through thin pine-woods and past fertile 
fields, where the ripening autumn grain swayed in the wind. South of 
Moscow we rattled along on shining rails across the undulating steppes 
of South Russia. My eyes devoured all of these prospects; for it was 
my first journey abroad. Small white churches lifted their green, 


18 MY. Wi BiB WAS) AWN VE XP ER 


onion-shaped cupolas above pleasant villages. Peasants in red blouses 
and heavy boots worked in the fields, and transported hay and edible 
roots in four-wheeled carts. On the poor, undrained roads, which 
harboured no dream of American automobiles then, troikas (three- 
horse teams) dashed by like a streak, pulling telegas and tarantasses, to 
the accompaniment of jingling bells. 

Leaving Rostoy, we crossed the mighty Don, not far from its outlet 
into the Sea of Azov, an arm of the Black Sea. The train rushed south 
indefatigably. At the stations there were Cossacks, soldiers, and gen- 
darmes, and handsome, well-built specimens of Caucasian tribes, tall 
men in brown coats and fur caps, with silver cartridges across breasts, 
and pistols, kinshals, or daggers in their belts. 

The train mounted slowly towards the northern base of the Cau- 
casus Mountains, carrying us in between its foothills. On the bank of 
the Terek River lay the pretty little 
town of Vladikavkaz, the ‘‘Ruler of the 
| Caucasus,” just as Vladivostok is the 
wi) §6\“‘Ruler of the East.”” There my pupil’s 
py \ father, the chief engineer, met us with 
a carriage, in which we were to make 
one hundred and twenty miles, in two © 
days, across the Caucasus, along the 
Grusian army road. This stretch was 
divided into eleven stages, and horses 
had to be changed at every station. 
Seven horses were needed to haul the 
heavy carriage up to the Godaur Sta- 
tion, 7,870 feet above sea-level. The 
down journey required only two or 
three. The slope was uneven. Some: 
times we drove up to the ridge of a steep 
mountain, only to descend again, by four 
or five zigzag curves, to the bed of the 
valley on the other side of the mountain; 
after which a new height had to be scaled. 

It was a magnificent journey. Never before in my life had I 
participated in anything comparable to it. All around us rose the 
giants of the Caucasus; and wonderful prospects, with snow-covered 


ci 
f 4 


Nai 
ua 


4H 
A NG 


THE MILITARY ROAD ACROSS THE 
CAUCASUS 


Hl 


—$—$—$_—= 


| 


HOW IT ALL BEGAN 19 


peaks in the background, unfolded between steep mountain-walls. 
Highest of all, Kasbek bathed its dome, 16,530 feet high, in the sun. 

The road itself was good. It was built, during the reign of 
Nicholas I, at so great a cost that upon opening it the Czar exclaimed: 
‘I had expected to see a road of 
gold, but I find it all of grey 
stones.” At the outer edge, a 
low stone parapet afforded pro- 
tection against the abyss yawning 
below. On the slopes, where in 
winter huge avalanches come 
down across the road and fill the 
valley, we drove through snow- 
sheds, strongly built, with ten- 
foot walls. 

All the way, the horses main- 
tained full speed. We moved at 
an insane rate. Seated next to 
the driver, I got dizzy every time 
the road turned abruptly; for it seemed to vanish into space, and I felt 
in danger of being hurled into the depths at any moment. 

But nothing happened; and we drove into Tiflis, the principal city 
of Caucasus, safe and sound. What a swarming life! What colour- 
ful pictures! The houses rose amphitheatre-like on the steep, barren 
mountain-slopes, from the banks of the Kura. Streets and lanes were 
crowded with camels, mules, vehicles, and people of various races— 
Russians, Armenians, Tatars, Georgians, Circassians, Persians, gip- 
sles, and Jews. 3 

At Tiflis, we resumed the journey by rail. The summer was in 
full swing, and it was burning-hot. ‘Taking a third-class compartment, 
because it was the airiest, we found ourselves in the company of Per- 
sian, Tatar, and Armenian merchants, with their children and wives, 
and other wonderful Orientals, picturesque in mien as well as in garb. 
In spite of the heat, they all wore big lambskin caps. I remember my 
feeling of wonder, when some pilgrims, returning from Mecca, spread 
their thin prayer-rugs on the floor of the compartment, while the 
train rolled on. The pilgrims all turned in the direction of the Holy 
City, and said their prayers, as the sun sank below the horizon. 


KASBEK, 16,530 FEET HIGH, ONE OF THE HIGHEST 
PEAKS OF THE CAUCASUS 


20 MY ‘LIFE )AS AN VE XPLORER 


Sometimes we were north of the River Kura, and sometimes south 
of it. Its fresh, green, cultivated banks frequently gleamed in the 
distance. Otherwise the country was desolate, mostly a steppe, where 
shepherds tended their herds; but in spots it was almost a desert. 
To the north, the mountain-range of the Caucasus appeared like an 
illuminated drop-scene, blue tones, with white streaks on the ridges. 
This was Asia! I could not look my fill at the fascinating picture. 
Already I felt that I would love this endless wilderness, and that during 
the years to come I would be drawn farther and farther toward the 
Fast. 

At Ujiri, following my usual custom, I alighted to make some 
sketches in my book. I had not gone far, when heavy hands were 
laid on my shoulders, and I was seized by three gendarmes, with vise- 
like grips. Brusque and suspicious, they fired questions at me. An 
Armenian girl, who spoke French, became my interpreter; for I did 
not yet understand Russian. ‘The gendarmes seized my sketch-book 
and laughed scornfully at my explanations. Evidently they scented a 
spy, who might be dangerous to the existence of the Czar’s country. 
A dense crowd surrounded us. The gendarmes wanted to take me 
away, to lock me up, perhaps. ‘The first signal for the train’s de- 
parture sounded. The station-master made his way through the crowd 
to see what had happened. He took my arm and escorted me back 
to the train. ‘The bell sounded the second time. I got up on a plat- 
form, the gendarmes at my heels. Creakingly the train started. 
Supple as an eel, I dashed through two or three coaches, and hid in a 
corner. By the time I returned to my companions, the gendarmes had 
jumped off the train. 

We approached the Caspian Sea. There was a strong wind. 
Clouds of dust were swept along the ground. First the mountains 
disappeared and then the whole country was shrouded in an impene- 
trable haze. ‘The wind increased. It became a gale, a hurricane. The 
engine worked desperately against the opposing head-wind. We pufted 
and panted heavily along the shore, seeing only indistinctly the white- 
capped waves, as they tossed and broke. The train stopped at last, 
at Baku, the ‘‘City of the Winds,” which that evening surely deserved 
its name. 

The Peninsula of Apsheron extends almost fifty miles eastward into 
the Caspian Sea. Baku is situated on the south coast of this peninsula, 


FLOW Vt acl LB EGAN 21 


and east of it we found the ‘Black Town,” where Nobel and other 
oil-kings have their huge refineries. From here the refined oil is piped 
through all of southern Caucasus to the Black Sea, while tank-steamers 
carry the precious fluid across the Caspian Sea to Astrakhan and 
Tsaritsyn on the Volga. The field which contains most of the oil-wells 
centres about Balakhany, a Tatar village thirteen versts! northeast 


f & 
Relies Teme ors piPERS 
—_— 


Oyne PENIN- 
SULA OF AP> 
SHERON , ONE 
OF THE RICHEST) 
COUNTRIES Li 
sTHE WORLD gf 


h\\ f 
A\ Sy 
Rar! e 


v( 


APSHERON 


of Baku. It was long known that this region contained crude oil, 
but it was not until 1874 that the brothers, Ludwig and Robert Nobel, 
came and introduced the American drilling-method. During the fol- 
lowing years, the industry prospered greatly; and in 1885, when I 
first visited Balakhany, there were three hundred and seventy drills, 
and as many wells, yielding oil by the hundreds of millions of puds 
annually. Sometimes it happened that the subterranean pressure 
caused the oil to gush like a spring. A single well would often eject 
half a million puds in twenty-four hours. 

I spent seven months in the midst of this strange forest of derricks. 
I crammed history, geography, languages, and other useful subjects 


into my pupil; but I derived greater pleasure from accompanying Lud- 
2A verst is two-thirds of a mile. 


Ze MY BARE CAS. VAN) > EEX ere a 


wig Nobel on his inspections of the oil-field. Above everything else, I 
loved to go through the villages on horseback, making sketches of the 
Tatars, their women, children, and 
houses, or gallop into Baku on a frisky 
horse, there to stroll round the “Black 
Bazaar,’ where Tatars, Persians, and 
Armenians, sitting in their dark little 
shops, sold rugs from Kurdistan and 
Kerman, hangings and brocades, slippers 
and papashs, or big fur caps. I watched 
the goldsmiths hammering their orna- 
ments and the armourers working iron 
into knives and kinshals. Everything 
was enchanting and interesting to me, 
the dervishes in their rags, as well as 
the begs, or princes, in their long, dark- 
blue coats. — 
A tempting objective for shorter 
trips was the temple of the fire-worship- 
OIL-WELL IN BALAKHAN pers. Formerly, the sacred fire burned 
| there day and night, beneath the cupola 
of the temple, fed by natural gas; but now it was permanently ex- 
tinguished; and at night the old sanctuary lay on the steppe surrounded 
by darkness and silence. 

Late one winter evening, as we 
sat around the lamp, ominous 
cries of ‘“Yango, yango!”’ (Fire, 
fire!) were heard from the road- 
way outside our windows. ‘[a- 
tars were running from house 
to house, rousing and warning 
people, and shouting at the top 
of their voices. We hurried out. 
The whole oil-field was lit up as 
bright as day. ‘he heart of the 
fire was only a few hundred 
yards away. It was a blazing lake of crude oil, flaming between walls 
of piled-up earth; and a derrick was ablaze too! The wind whipped 


A BLAZING LAKE OF CRUDE OIL 


HOWELL ALL BEGAN 23 


the flames like torn, streaming flags, and heavy clouds of brown smoke 
welled up. Things were sputtering, boiling, and seething. The Tatars 
tried to choke the fire with earth, but in vain. The derricks were fairly 
close to one another. The wind carried sparks from derrick to derrick, 
destroying everything in the field that rose above its surface. The 
nearest drills looked like white phantoms in the glaring light. The 
Tatars were chopping them down as fast as they could. By superhuman 
effort, they thus succeeded in checking the fire; and after a few hours 
the lake was burnt out, and darkness again reigned over the land. 


CHAP TRY at 


Across the Elburz Range to Teheran 


the Tatar and Persian languages quite fluently. Baki 

Khanoff, a young Tatar of rank, was my teacher. Early in 

April, my term of service concluded, I decided to spend the 
three hundred rubles I had earned on a horseback-journey, southward 
through Persia, and thence down to the sea. Baki Khanoff was to go 
with me. 

I took leave of my fellow countrymen, and late one evening boarded 
a Russian paddle-wheel steamer. A violent northern gale was sweeping 
over Baku, and the captain dared not leave port. By morning the gale 
had subsided. The paddles began their wrestling with the waves, and 
the steamer proceeded southward. After a thirty-hour sail, we landed 
at Enseli, on the southern shore of the Caspian Sea, and immediately 
went by launch across the big fresh-water lagoon, called Murdab, or the 
‘Dead Water,” to a lake village embedded in luxuriant green. From 
there we were to proceed on horseback to Resht, a trading-town. 

I had changed all my funds into Persian kran, and at that time a 
kran was valued at a franc. The small silver coins were sewn in leather 
belts, which we wore around our waists. I had half the money, and 
Baki Khanoff the other. With this exception, we were dressed as lightly 
as possible. I carried no clothes, except the winter suit I wore, a short 
winter coat, and a blanket. I was armed with a revolver. Baki Khanoff 
had a gun strapped over his Tatar coat, and a kinshal in his belt. 

The Royal Bengal tiger prowled in the dense jungles around Resht, 
and from the teeming marshes there rose fever-producing miasmata, 
which sometimes caused fearful epidemics. On one occasion, six thou- 
sand people perished in the little town; and the survivors, having no 
time to bury their dead, threw the bodies into the mosques. ‘These 
mosques looked very picturesque, with their low minarets and red-slate 
roofs. The merchants’ booths were covered with multi-coloured 

24 . 


De: the winter evenings in Balakhany, I learned to speak 


ACROSS) EL Ee eh Wit R Z 25 


draperies, as protection against the sun. Silk, rice, and cotton were the 
chief products of the country along this coast. 

There was a Russian consul in Resht, a Mr. Vlassoff. I called on 
him, and was invited to dinner that same evening. Dressed in my simple 
travelling-suit and riding-boots, I entered a house decorated with Per- 
sian splendour, and regally illuminated; so that I felt very unhappy 
when my host appeared in formal evening clothes. I regretted that I 
had not‘stayed with Baki Khanoff in our humble caravansary. But I 


Ke eee 


e 
epee SO ae 
——oow Ps 


See 


we 


ps 4 
1 lle PM 1 
RE ele oatee: 
Os ES NOR ee 
ih) 
sek 


a - 7 7 ~~ 

HNN \ A we 

fae aR = N 
: Ae IA 


A MOSQUE IN RESHT 


had no evening suit; and I simply had to make the best of this Lucullian 
dinner for two. 

The next morning, two rested horses stood pawing at the door of the 
caravansary, with two boys guarding them. A Tatar kurchin, or soft, 
double bag, tied behind the saddle, held all my luggage. We mounted, 
the boys following on foot, half running. The road led through a 
luxuriant forest. We met riders, and pedestrians, and big mule-cara- 
vans, with goods for transport over the sea to Russia, among them being 
dried fruits in leather-covered boxes. The forest resounded with the 
tinkle of mule-bells; and the first animal of each caravan wore a huge, 
bronze bell, which sounded dully. 


We spent the night in Kodom, at an inn, where hundreds of swallows 


26 MY LIFE AS CAN EXPLORER 


nested in the moss-covered roof, and flew in and out of the nests and 
through open windows. 

Farther on, the ground sloped towards the mountains. We went 
along the valley-bed of the Sefeed-Rud, or the ‘White River,” staying 
overnight in beautifully-situated villages, set among olive-groves, fruit 
trees, plane trees, and willows. We carried no provisions, but lived 
on what the country offered—poultry, eggs, milk, wheat-bread, and 
fruit, at an incredibly small cost. The road grew steeper. We were 
in the Elburz mountain-range and were ascending towards the heights. 
The forest thinned out and came to an end. 

At Mendjil, we rode across an old, stone bridge, with eight arches. 
The day was grey and windy. All of the mountains were completely 
covered with a snow-blanket, which grew thicker, the higher we 


ACROSS THE ELBURZ MOUNTAINS IN A SNOWSTORM 


mounted. And now, too, snow began to fall. The whole country was 
enveloped in a blinding snowstorm. I was not dressed for that kind of 
weather. I was literally held fast to my saddle by snow, and felt the 
cold gradually penetrate bone and sinew. ‘The blanket of snow oblit- 
erated the trail, the horses plunged into the drifts like dolphins, the 
driving snow beat on our faces, everything was white, and we thought 
we had lost our way, when something appeared dimly through the whirl- 
ing snow. It was a caravan of horses and mules, moving in the same 
direction as we. Two men were riding in advance, probing the snow 
with long, thin lances, so as to avoid any treacherously-hidden crevices or 


ACROSS FPHEy EL BURZ fa 


menacing precipices. Chilled through and through, we finally reached 
the village of Masra; and there, in a dirty hovel, resembling a cave, we 
built a fire on the ground. Thus four Tatars, two Persians, and one 
Swede were seated, thawing out 
their stiff joints and drying their 
wet clothes in front of the fire. 
The road wound up across the 
highest ridge of the Elburz 
Mountains. ‘The snow soon dis- 
appeared on the southern slope, 
and the steppe slowly gave to- 
wards the city of Kazvin, con- 
cerning which the Prophet him- 
self has said: ‘‘Honour Kazvin, 
for that city lies at the threshold 
of one of the doors of Paradise.” 
Harun-ar-Rashid, the great 7 
Caliph, beautified Kazvyin, and IN THE REST-HOUSE OF MASRA 
Shah Thamas I made it his own 
capital, as well as that of Persia (1548 a.D.), calling it Dar-es-Saltanet, 
or the “Seat of Royalty.” Its glamour faded forty years later, when 
Shah Abbas the Great transferred his capital to Ispahan. 

Legend has it that the Arabian poet, Lokman, who lived in Kazvin, 
when he felt death approaching, called his son to him, and said: ‘“Trea- 
sures I have none to give you, but here are three bottles, filled with 
miracle-working medicine. If you pour a few drops from the first 
bottle over a dead man, his soul will return to the body. If you sprinkle 
him with the contents of the second bottle, he will sit up. If the con- 
tents of the third bottle are poured over him, he will be completely re- 
stored to life. But use this precious medicine sparingly.’ Arrived at 
old age, and knowing that his end was near, the son called his servant 
and directed that the remedy be applied to him as soon as he was dead. 
The servant carried his dead master to the bath-house, and poured the 
first and second bottles over him. ‘Thereupon the son of Lokman 
arose, shouting at the top of his voice: “Pour, pour!’ But the servant 
was so terrified at the dead body speaking that he dropped the third 
bottle on the stone floor, and ran away. There sat the poor son of 
Lokman, and had to return to the kingdom of the dead. But from the 


28 MOY sD RE AS ANG Hes Orns 


vault of the bath-house, still shown in Kazvin, the ghastly shouts of 
‘Pour, pour!” are still to be heard. 

Kazvin is situated on the plain south of the Elburz Mountains. A 
road, ninety miles long, divided into six stages, runs from Kazvin to 
Teheran, the capital of the country. Travelling is done by means of 
tarantasses and troikas, in the Russian fashion, the horses being changed 
five times. | 

The weather was now springlike and bright, and we enjoyed the 
swift drive. The horses went at full speed, and the wheels raised clouds 
of dust. Toward the north, the snow-covered ridges of the Elburz were 
visible. ‘Toward the south the level plain extended to the sky-line; and 
here and there the fresh green of gardens, in various scattered villages, 
embellished the otherwise monotonously yellow-grey landscape. 

Once we heard the rattling of another tarantass behind us, and the 
next moment it swept past at breakneck speed. ‘The passengers, three 
Tatar merchants, shouted mockingly, ‘‘Happy journey!” as they rushed 
past our tarantass. Now they would be the first at the next station, and 
could appropriate the best horses. But presently my pride was stung. 
I promised the driver two kran, if he succeeded in overtaking the Ta- 
tars. So the horses were whipped up; and, near the next station, we 
passed the Tatars at a good clip. Now it was my turn to hurl a 
‘Happy journey!” in their direction, which I did at the top of my voice. 

I knew that a Swedish physician, ranking as a Persian nobleman, and 
bearing the honourable title of Khan, or prince, had been the dentist to 
the Shah of Persia since 1873; so, upon arriving at Teheran, I drove 
directly to his house. Happy at meeting a compatriot at last, he re- 
ceived me with open arms, and for a time I lived in his beautiful home, 
the decorations of which were an approach to Persian style. Day after 
day we tramped through this great city, about which I will speak more 
fully later on. Here I will relate only one incident, because of its future 
significance to me. 

One day, Dr. Hybennet and I were walking between the yellow, 
clay walls and houses of ‘Teheran’s dusty streets. ‘These streets, where 
sufficiently wide, had narrow, open ditches along their sides, and rows 
of plane trees, poplars, willows, or mulberry trees. All at once, we 
noticed a band of running ferrashs, or heralds, garbed in red, wearing 
silver casques, and carrying long, silver staffs in their hands. With these 
staffs they made a way through the crowd, for the King of Kings was 


ACROSS THE ELBURZ hagas 


out driving. A troop of fifty horsemen followed these heralds, and 
then came the grey carriage of the Shah, drawn by six black stallions, 
in gorgeous silver caparisons, each left-hand horse bearing a rider. ‘The 
Shah wore a black cloak over his shoulders, and on his head a black 
cap, with a huge emerald and a jewelled clasp. Another cavalcade fol- 
lowed the Shah’s carriage, and in the rear of the procession came an 
emergency-carriage, always held in readiness, in case the other broke. 
Though the streets were not paved, there was no dust from the horses’ 
hoofs; for before the Shah drove out, the roads to be traversed were 
sprinkled with water from leather bags, carried by mules. In a minute 
or so, the magnificent cavalcade had disappeared in the distance between 
the trees. 

That was the first time I ever saw Nasr-ed-Din, Shah of Persia. He 
was regal in appearance, with dark eyes, aquiline nose, and a big, black 
moustache. As we stood at the side of the road, and the carriage rolled 
past us, the Shah, pointing at me, called out to Hybennet: “In ki est ?” 
(Who is that?) Hybennet instantly replied: “A fellow countryman 
who is visiting me, your Majesty.”’ Years later, I was to have the 
opportunity of becoming better acquainted with this man, the last Shah 
on the ancient throne of Persia, who had the imperious temperament of 
a veritable Asiatic despot. 


pt 09 GAS RSE Dp RS ed hes Bf 
On Horseback Through Persia 


had no further reason to postpone my projected trip southward. 

But Baki Khanoff was taken down with fever, and so I had to 

go on alone. He went home to Baku, while I proceeded onward, 
without servants, on the twenty-seventh of April. 

But one could not be quite alone, when travelling chapari (with hired 
horses) from one halting-place to another, through Persia. A groom 
went along, so that the two horses could be returned to the station from 
which they were borrowed. The horses cost a couple of kran, and a 
night’s lodging in the chaparkhanceh, or station, about the same. Horse 
and groom were changed at every station. The traveller might ride 
day and night, if he felt equal to the strain. The stages ranged from 
twelve to eighteen miles. The double bag behind my saddle held all my 
belongings, but I still carried the silver coins, about six hundred kran 
(or francs) sewed up in the leather belt round my waist. The pockets 
of this belt were cut open as needed. Food was to be had cheaply 
everywhere. 

Interminable stretches of a strange country lay before me, as I rode 
out of the south gate of Teheran with my first groom. The unre- 
strained, open-armed Asiatic reception made me happy. Horsemen, 
caravans, wandering dervishes, every living creature we saw, was my 
friend, and I felt boundlessly sorry for the tired little mules, sinking 
under their burdens of red watermelons and yellow sugar-melons, in 
plaited rush-baskets. The “Tower of Rages,” the ancient city named 
in the apocryphal Book of Tobit, rose on the left. Beneath its golden 
cupola slumbered the holy Shah Abdul-Azim, in the burial-mosque where, 
ten years later, Shah Nasr-ed-Din was to fall by the hand of a fanatical 
mullah. i 

The country grew more desolate. Fewer gardens were to be seen, 


steppe appeared, and then all became desert-like. Now we trotted 
30 | 


S UMMER was approaching. It grew warmer every day, and I 


ONO TORS E BACK DhIVROUGH! PERSIA ° 31 


along, now we galloped. A band of pilgrims from Mecca met us. My 
companion dismounted in order to kiss the hem of their mantles. 

In Koom, a holy shrine, visited by innumerable pilgrims, the holy Fa- 
tima sleeps her last sleep. A golden cupola glistens in the sunshine above 
her resting-place, two tall, slen- Seg : 
der minarets towering beside it. 

Our road ran south through 
the important commercial city of 
Kashan, after which it ascended 
toward new mountains. I did 
not notice, at our departure, that 
the groom, a fifteen-year-old 
boy, had taken a fresh horse for 
himself, giving me an exhausted 
one. I changed horses with him 
out in the country, and he was 
no longer able to keep up with 
me. He nearly wept, and im- 
plored me not to ride away from 
him. But I was hard-hearted 
enough to say: 

“You know the road and the AY NN es 
country better than I. Surely gggesagee SS 2 
you'll find your way alonetothe &&Z 
station of Kuhrud. I'll wait for 
you there.” 

“Yes, but don’t you see that 
the night is approaching, and I shall be afraid to ride alone through 
the woods?” 

“Oh, no! It isn’t dangerous at all. You just ride along as fast as 
your horse can carry you.” 

I rode on southwards. The boy disappeared in the distance behind 
me. The sun went down. Twilight came, followed soon by darkness. 
It was all right, as long as I could see the road; but after that, I had 
to rely on my horse. Walking fast, he took me into the Kuhrud Moun- 
tains. I had no idea what the landscape looked like, but now and then 
I brushed past a tree-trunk, or felt leaves brushing my face. Maybe the 
horse was leading me astray. It would certainly have been wiser to 


WoT ea Hc 
"| 


pee y me © trl 
las iF lA 
f if, 1 : 
oo 


15 ib 

ap aD ig “ay Ppl fi 

bog 3 poe Ae! 
Se IE as = 


THE TOMB OF THE HOLY FATIMA IN KOOM 


RY, MY DL RE WS)) AUN 4) Bhat erie 


have stuck to the boy, who knew the road. But now everything de- 
pended on the horse. He just walked and walked. The darkness was 
impenetrable. Only the stars twinkled over the valley, and time and 
again I saw the gleam of distant lightning. 

After riding on in the dark for four hours, I noticed a streak of 
light glimmering through the trees. It was a nomad’s tent. I tied 
my horse, and lifting the tent-flap, asked if anybody was at home. An 
old man answered me crossly that it was inconsiderate to disturb him 
and his family in the middle of the night. But when I assured him that 
I wanted nothing more than to know whether I was on the right road 
to Kuhrud, he came out and accompanied me part of the way through 
the forest, indicating the right direction, and disappearing again in the 
dark, without saying a word. [ finally reached Kuhrud, where the boy 
whom I had so cruelly deserted stood laughing in the doorway. Arriving 
a few hours before me, he had wondered if I had been kidnapped. In 
the end, I had tea, eggs, salt, and bread, placed the saddlebag on the 
floor for a pillow, and was soon sound asleep. 

The Anglo-Indian telegraph-line, which crosses Persia, reaches its 
highest point (seven thousand feet) at Kuhrud. 

We approached a city, and life on the highway grew more diversified 
and colourful. The villages and the gardens were closer together, we 
passed little caravans of mules, horses, and donkeys, laden with fruit 
and grain, and finally entered a street. It was the famed Ispahan, the 
capital of Shah Abbas the Great. : 

The Zendeh-rud River rushed right through the city, and mighty 
bridges, more than three hundred years old, spanned its eddying, muddy 
waters. There was much for the stranger to see in Ispahan. He found 
there one of the largest plazas in the world, the Maidan-i-Shah, two 
thousand feet long and seven hundred feet wide. He could admire the 
glorious facade of the Mesjid-i-Shah, faced with beautiful faience. At 
Chehel Sutun, or the “Palace of Forty Pillars,” he could count only 
twenty columns; but seeing their counterpart in the quiet pool extending 
before the facade, he readily understood how it got its name. : 

In Yulfa, the suburb inhabited by poor Armenians, I became aware 
of the aromatic scent of peaches, apricots, and grapes; and inside the 
masonry walls of the enormous bazaar, I heard a deafening noise, as the 
caravans made their way through the swarming crowds, and the mer- 
chants cried their wares and the coppersmiths hammered on their pans. 


ON HORSEBACK THROUGH PERSIA 


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34 MY LIFE AS AN EXPLORER 


It was truly a charming picture that unfolded itself before my gaze, 
when, from the heights south of the city, I turned in the saddle, and 
looked back on the innumerable houses, embedded in luxuriant gardens, 
and on the shining cupolas and minarets, rising above the fresh green. 

Again I rode through wastes, where red spiders and grey and green 
lizards buried themselves, and where the nomads tended their grazing 
sheep. Through such a region I ascended to the ruins of Pasargade, 
and enjoyed a brief stay at a small, marble building, approached by 


La idee ORE, a en 


YESDIKAST, BUILT ON THE TOP OF AN ISOLATED ROCK 


high stairs, which still defies the twenty-five centuries which have flown 
past its coping on the wings of time. 

The Persians call this ancient monument Mader-i-Suleiman, or the 
“Mother of Solomon,” believing that this grand lady’s resting-place is in 
the sepulchral chamber, ten feet long and seven feet wide, at the top of 
the stairs. But the Europeans call it the Tomb of Cyrus, though it is 
very doubtful if the great king was really interred here in a gold-plated 
sarcophagus, with costly hangings from Babylon on the walls, and with 
the dead man’s sword, shield and bow, his neck-chain, earrings, and royal 
attire. 

I recalled the proud words of Cyrus: ‘‘My father’s country is 
bounded on the south by lands so torrid as to be uninhabitable, and on 
the north by regions fettcred with chains of i ice. What lies between is 
subject to the satraps.”’ 


ON PIvOR SE RACK 7 ROUGH (PERSIA, 35 


The mountainous district just traversed opened into the plain of 
Merdasht; and there I went on horseback to an ancient and even more 
remarkable monument, the ruins of Persepolis, capital of the Ache- 
menian overlords, the most beautiful relic of antiquity preserved in 
Persia. These ruins are situated in an almost complete waste. The 
yellow-clay soil is cracked from the heat. No life is to be seen. I sent 
the groom back to the station with the horse, and remained alone among 
the ruins all day long. 

A flight of stairs, with double wings, and wide enough for ten horse- 
men abreast to ride up its low, marble steps, leads up to the gigantic 
platform, where still remain the foundation-walls of the palace of 
Darius I, and thirteen of the thirty-six columns which supported the 
roof-beams in the palace of Xerxes, two thousand four hundred years 
ago. One can picture it for oneself by reading the description of 
Ahasuerus’ palace at Susa, in the Book of Esther (1:6): ‘There 
were white, green, and blue hangings, fastened with cords of fine linen 
and purple to silver rings and pillars of marble; the beds were of gold 
and silver upon a pavement of red, and blue, and white, and black 
marble.” 

All this splendour was destroyed, 331 B.c., when the victorious Alex- 
ander of Macedon, after a wild drinking-bout, set fire to the royal 
palaces and reduced Persepolis to ashes. 

We proceeded toward the south. From a narrow pass, we had an 
unforgettable view over the city of Shiraz, lying on the plain below. 
_ They call this pass Tang-i-Allah Akbar, because Persians, approaching 
for the first time, and seeing Shiraz in the distance, exclaim in surprise, 
“Allah Akbar!” (God is great!). 

Shiraz is famous for its wine, its women, its songs, and its luxuriant 
roses. here the wine ripens on the hillside, there the air is heavy with 
the scent of flowers, and there the cypresses rise above the graves of 
illustrious poets. The most notable tombs are the mausoleums over 
Persia’s two greatest poets, Sadi (born 1176), author of ‘‘Gulistan,” or 
the ‘Rose Garden,” and Hafiz (born 1318), who wrote ‘“The Divan” 
and his own epitaph: ‘“O my beloved ones, approach my grave with 
wine and song, it may be that at the sound of your joyous voices and 
melodious music I shall awaken out of my slumber and arise from the 
dead.” ‘Tamerlane, admiring the poems of Hafiz, visited him in Shiraz, 
during one of his campaigns. 


36 MY: OG RE AS PAN oROXe RO ok 


There are many orders of dervishes. The head of each order is 
called pir. They have different customs and rules. Some of them 
always cry “Allahum!” (O God!). Others, “Ya hu, ya hack!” (He 
is just, He is the truth!). Still others, who are stricter, flagellate their 
shoulders with iron chains. But almost all of them have one thing in 
common: their members carry a staff in one hand, and in the other, half 
of a cocoanut-shell, in which to receive alms. 

In 1863, a Swedish doctor of medicine, named Fagergren, came to 
live in Shiraz, and spent thirty years in the City of Roses and Poets. 
He lies buried in the Christian churchyard there. One day a dervish 
pounded on his door. Fagergren opened it, and threw a copper coin to 
the beggar. The dervish exclaimed scornfully that he had not come to 
beg, but to convert the infidel to Islam. ‘First give me a proof of 
your miraculous powers,’ demanded Fagergren. “Yes,” replied the 
dervish; ‘I can speak to you in any language you may name.” ‘Well, 
then,” said Fagergren, in his own tongue, “speak a little Swedish.” 
The dervish lifted his voice, and in faultless Swedish recited some verses 
from Tegnér’s ‘‘Frithiof’s Saga.’’ Our good doctor was amazed. He 
could hardly trust his ears. ‘Then the dervish, thinking he had tor- 
mented the doctor long enough, removed his disguise, and revealed him- 
self as Arminius Vambéry, professor of Oriental languages in the Uni- 
versity of Budapest, who later became world-famous. 

Quite without disguise I arrived at Shiraz, and lived for some days 
with M. Fargues, a very amiable Frenchman. In 1866, as a young 
official in his native country, he had received six months’ leave, to make 
a little trip to Shiraz. But when I arrived there, in 1886, he had not 
yet left the city; and four years later | met him again, in Teheran, so 
completely had he fallen in love with Persia. 

The roughest stretch of the entire journey from the Caspian Sea was 
that from Shiraz to the Persian Gulf. The roads over the Farsistan 
Mountains were steep and neck-breaking. We went up hill and down 
dale, among wild, crumbled, and sun-baked rocks, and crossed the three 
passes, Sin-i-sefeid (the White Saddle), Pir-i-san (the Old Woman), 
and Kotel-i-dukhter (the Girl’s Pass). Once my horse lost his footing 
and rolled down a declivity, but I managed to free myself from the 
saddle in time, and remained on the path. 

The heat was stifling. “The mountains grew smaller, and gradually 
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away from my groom, who was an aged man. There was little security 
in these regions, where highwaymen and bandits were wont to prowl. 
But everything went well. Dawncame. Before me appeared a shining 
streak, resembling a polished sword-blade. A few hours later I rode 
into Bushir, a port, having covered nine hundred miles in twenty-nine 
travelling-days, right through the Shah’s vast realm. 


CHAP TE Re sb 
Through Mesopotamia to Bagdad 


B= was probably the most detestable city I visited in 


Asia! It must be a real punishment to have to live and work 

there. No vegetation, or at most a palm tree or two; two- 

story white houses; alleys reduced to the utmost narrowness for 
the sake of shade and coolness; an all-year-round sun-bath, especially 
intolerable in the summer; a temperature which I once found mounting 
to 110° Fahrenheit, but which can rise to 113° and more, in the shade; 
and, finally, the glittering sun over the warm, salt, lifeless water-deserts 
of the Persian Gulf. 

I lived with kind European aa The beds, surrounded by mos- 
quito-netting, were on the roof. But even before sunrise, I had to hurry 
below, to the shade, so as to avoid white water-blisters, which produce 
a smarting pain. 

One day, an English steamer, the “Assyria,” arrived, and anchored 
in the open harbour outside Bushir. I hurried on board. To conserve 
my rapidly shrinking funds, I booked my passage for the uncovered 
upper deck. ‘The steamer carried freight and passengers between 
Bombay and Basra; and Orientals from .India, Persia, and Arabia 
swarmed on board. ‘The journey across the Persian Gulf was not long; 
and even before sighting land, while approaching the mouth of the big 
river, Shat-el-Arab, the engines slowed down, and the pilots navigated 
the ship carefully between the treacherous mud-banks in the water- 
covered area of the delta. This river is formed by the confluence of the 
Tigris and Euphrates, and carries with it such quantities of sand and 
clay, that the delta encroaches on the Persian Gulf a distance of one 
hundred and seventy-five feet a year. 

We steamed up the river. On the low banks were palm-groves, huts 
and black tents, herds of cattle and sheep; and grey buffaloes, with 
receding horns, went grubbing in the mud. Outside Basra, the 
‘‘Assyria’”’ cast anchor, and about thirty boats, with water splashing at 

38 


THROUGH MESOPOTAMIA TO BAGDAD 39 


their bows, were rowed to her side. These belem, as they are called, 
carry passengers, as well as freight. Out on the river, where the water 
is deep, multi-coloured oars, with wide blades, are used; but in the 
shallows, the Arabian oarsmen jump onto the rail, and propel the boats 
with long, slender poles. 

The European consulates, mercantile establishments, and warehouses 
are on the water-front. Having nothing to do there, I took a belem, 
no wider than a canoe, and had myself rowed along a winding creek, 
through a dense forest of luxuriant date-palms. It was humid, close, 
and warm, with never a breeze to afford relief. But there was an aro- 
matic odour from the palms. A Persian poet avers that there are 
seventy different kinds of date-palms, and that they serve three hundred 
and sixty-three different purposes. And the palm is known as “‘Islam’s 
blessed tree,” its delicious fruit certainly being the principal nourishment 
of a great part of the population. 

Arabic Basra, conquered by the Turks in 1668, is composed of two- 
story houses, with balconies, through the lattice windows of which the 
women observe the life of the narrow streets. There are cafés with 
open verandas, where Turks, Arabs, Persians, and other Orientals drink 
their coffee or tea, and smoke their narghilehs. The city is dirty and 
fever-infested. Its principal sanitary workers are the jackals and 
hyenas, which steal in at night from their dens in the desert, to clean 
up among the refuse and the carcasses decaying in the streets and 
lanes. 

The paddle-wheel steamer ‘‘Mejidieh” left Basra, on the last of 
May, for Bagdad, and I had a cabin on its upper deck. The officers of 
the ship were Englishmen, the crew Turks. I was the only white pas- 
senger; all the others were Orientals. From the bridge one could 
enjoy the life of the forecastle-deck. Arabian merchants sat there 
playing tricktrack, while the Persians smoked their pipes and blew 
life into the glowing coals of the samovar. One could look right 
down into a harem, inside the temporarily-suspended blue hangings 
of which young women lounged on cushions and feather-beds, killing 
time by eating sweets, smoking, and drinking tea. A dervish was 
declaiming parables in a loud voice to listening boys, afterwards going 
among his audience with his cocoanut-shell for contributions of food. 

The Tigris and Euphrates, the rivers of Paradise, meet at Corna; 
and the Arabs declare that in the beginning the Garden of Eden lay 


40 MY LIFE .-AS AN) EXPLORER 


at the point of the peninsula between these two rivers. They even 
show you the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil. Others say that 
the Euphrates is male, the Tigris female, and that Corna is their 
wedding-place. Looking at the two rivers on the map, one cannot but 
notice their resemblance to a pair of ox-horns; and, as a matter of fact, 
the name Corna is strikingly like the Latin cornu and the English 
eOrN 
The Euphrates, the largest river in western Asia, 1,665 miles long, 
has its source in the highlands of Armenia, not far from sacred 
Ararat. Together with the shorter Tigris, it encloses Mesopotamia, 
the ‘‘Land between the Rivers,’ the El-Yezireh, or the ‘‘Isle,’’ of the 
Arabs. Here all the soil is redolent of bygone millenniums, when 
Assyria and Babylonia, then the great powers of their day, fought 
out their world-wars. There ancient Babylon flourished; there the 
presumptuous people evoked God’s anger by building the Tower of 
Babel toward the sky; there, on the Tigris, we find the ruins of ancient 
Nineveh, the capital of Sennacherib, Asarhaddon, and Sardanapalus. 
We left the mouth of the Euphrates and steamed slowly upstream 
on the winding Tigris. Armenia’s and Taurus’s melting snowfields 
sent freshets flowing through its bed. It would take us four days to 
reach Bagdad. At low water, and with the constantly shifting sand- 
banks lurking beneath the dirty, pea-soup-like water, the steamer fre- 
quently touched bottom; then the water ballast had to be emptied, and 
cargo and people discharged, in order to refloat the ship. When that 
happens, the journey takes as long as seven days. Going downstream, 
at high water, one can reach Basra, from Bagdad, in forty-two hours. 
We anchored at the Tomb of Ezra, where palm trees were re- 
flected in the river; and gay Jewish boys rowed out to fetch cargo and 
passengers. On the shore, half-savage nomads, of the Montefik and 
Abu Mohammed tribes, rode with their herds. They carried spears 
in their hands, and on their heads they wore horsehair wreaths, to 
hold the white veils, which fluttered over their shoulders and sides. 
Sailboats (kashti) were skimming up the river, their white sails 
swelled by a light breeze. The mountains of Kurdistan were visible 
in the blue distance. A herd of buffaloes was swimming across the 
river, the herdsmen using spears to keep them in line. Black tents 
were pitched on the burnt steppe. The light from the camp-fires 
pierced the darkness of the night. 


THROUGH MESOPOTAMIA’ TO‘BAGDAD | 41 


The sun was hardly risen, before the heat became suffocating. We 
were tortured by mosquitoes in the evening, and in the daytime the 
sky was literally clouded with grasshoppers. Entire swarms of grass- 
hoppers flew over the river. They descended on the ship, creeping and 
crawling everywhere, on our clothes and hands, and in our faces; and 
we had to close the doors and windows of our cabins, to escape their 
company for the night. They struck the hot funnel, burned their wings, 
and fell in a steadily growing heap at its base. 

At Kut-el-Amara, we took sacks of wool on board. Suddenly we 
stopped, and back-watered. We were aground on a sand-bank. The 


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water ballast was emptied, and with the assistance of the stream, which 
here flowed at the rate of two and a half miles an hour, we worked 
ourselves loose. A little higher up, the river described a long curve, 
which the boat rounded in two hours and forty minutes, although a 
pedestrian might cross the base of the headland in half an hour. On 
this headland are the ruins of the city of Ctesiphon, where Parthians, 
Romans, Sassanids, and Arabs ruled successively. Here, too, rises the 
beautiful ruin of the castle Tak-Kesra, or “‘Khosru’s Bow,” so called 
after the Sassanian king, Khosru Nushirvan (531-578 A.D.). 

The captain of the ‘“‘Mejidieh” made no objection to my going 
ashore. I was rowed by four Arabs, two of whom accompanied me 
across the headland. Broken bits of faience rattled under our feet; 


42 MY LIFE AS AN EXPLORER 


and at ‘‘Khosru’s Bow’’ I stopped an hour to sketch. The desert had 
claimed the spot where once rose the walls of Ctesiphon, the capital. 
Then the king’s garden unfolded in luxuriant splendour; but in the 
midst of the formal green there was a space where only weeds and 
thistles grew. A Roman legate asked for an explanation, and the king 
answered that the neglected ground belonged to a poor widow, who 
did not want to sell it, whereupon the Roman replied that this very 
piece was the most beautiful thing he had seen in the king’s garden. 

In 637, King Yezdegird III surrendered to the superior force of the 
rapidly advancing Arabs. To their negotiations, the King replied: “I 
have seen many nations, but never one as poor as yours; mice and snakes 
are your food, sheep and camel-skins your clothes. What makes it 
possible for you to conquer my country?’ And the envoys answered 
him: “You are right. Hunger and nakedness were our lot, but God 
has given us a prophet whose religion is our strength.” 

We were nearing Bagdad! ‘The desolate landscape was enveloped 
in a cloud of mist. I dreamt of the tales in the “Arabian Nights,” and 
of all the wealth and splendour that gave the capital of the Abbasid 
caliphs such fame throughout the Orient. But the haze lifted. I saw 
only common, clay houses and palm trees. ‘The dream vanished. A 
frail pontoon-bridge spanned the Tigris. The water for irrigation was 
drawn up the embankment by means of big wheels, propelled by horses. 
On the right bank appeared the Tomb of Zobeide, Harun-ar-Rashid’s 
favourite wife. The ‘“‘Mejidieh” cast anchor outside the custom-house. 
A swarm of shell-like boats (guffas), ‘‘with neither bow nor stern, and 
resembling a shield,” according to Herodotus, surrounded the ship, and 
took us all ashore. 

The powerful Caliph Abu Yafar Abdallah al-Mansur founded Bag- 
dad, in 762 A.D., honouring his capital with the title of Dar-es-Salam, or 
“Dwelling of Peace.’ Under his grandson, Harun-ar-Rashid, “the 
Just,” the city had its days of real glory. In 1258, Bagdad was plun- 
dered and burnt by the Mongolians, under Hulagu; yet, in 1327, Ibn 
Batuta was astounded at its greatness and splendour. But by 1401, 
the terrible Tamerlane was at its gates. He sacked and pillaged every- 
thing, except the mosques, and built a pyramid of ninety thousand human 
heads. | 

Little remained in Bagdad from the days of the caliphs—a caravan- 
sary, a city gate, Zobeide’s Tomb, and the minaret Suk-el-Gazl, towering 


THROUGH MESOPOTAMIA TO BAGDAD 13 


high and dignified above a sea of houses, in which the two hundred 
thousand people lived. The streets were narrow and picturesque, and I 
was swept into a throng of gaily-robed Arabs, Bedouins, Turks, Per- 
sians, Indians, Jews, and Armenians. In the bazaars, one’s eyes could 
feed on glorious rugs, silk sashes, hangings, and brocades, largely im- 
portations from India. 

The houses were two-storied, with balconies, and subterranean 
rooms that afforded refuge during the hot summer days. A punka, or 
fan, for comfort and ventilation, hung from the ceiling, and was kept in 
constant motion by a boy, with a rope. Tall palms rose over the flat 
roofs of the houses, and the summer wind sighed among their branches. 


CHAPTER V 
An Adventurous Ride Through Western Persia 


N Bagdad, I went to the house of Mr. Hilpern, an English mer- 
chant. He and his wife received me most hospitably, and I stayed 
with them three days. I strolled about the city and its environs, 
rowed in a guffa on the river, and fared royally at Mr. Hilpern’s 

table. 

He seemed to think that I was a reckless youth. I had come to 
Bagdad alone; and now, with no servant, I was going to ride back 
through the desert, through unsafe Kurdistan and western Persia, to 
Teheran. I could not bring myself to tell him that I carried in my belt 
no more than one hundred and fifty kran, or twenty-eight dollars. I 
was determined to hire myself out as a muleteer through waste regions, 
rather than reveal my poverty. 

Mr. Hilpern accompanied me to the big caravansaries connected 
with the bazaar. In a courtyard, some men were packing bales of 
goods, to be loaded on pack-saddles. We inquired where they were 
going. ‘Io Kermanshah,” they answered. 

‘How many days does it take ?”’ 

‘Eleven or twelve days.”’ 

‘How large is your caravan?” 

. “We have fifty mules, with cargo. Our party consists of ten mer- 
chants, who will be mounted on horses, some pilgrims returning from 
Mecca, six pilgrims from Kerbela, and a Chaldean merchant.” 

“May I join your caravan?” I asked. 

“Yes, if you will pay well.” 

“What does it cost to hire a horse for cea eene i 

“Fifty kran.” 

Mr. Hilpern advised me to accept the offer. I was to be called for 
at his house on the evening of June 7. At the appointed time, two Arabs 
appeared. My Persian saddle was placed on the hired horse. I took 
leave of my kind host and hostess, mounted, and was conducted by the 
Arabs across Bagdad, to the caravansary on its outskirts. 

44 


AN ADVENTUROUS RIDE 45 


It was Ramadan, the month in which the followers of the Prophet 
neither eat, drink, nor smoke while the sun is up. But after sunset, they 
make up for the deprivation. ‘Then the men gather in the open-air 
cafés of the bazaars, and sup religiously. Our way led right through 
the throng. The smoke from their water-pipes floated like mist in the 
narrow passages, and the light from the oil-lamps struggled with the 
darkness. 

It was not until two o’clock in the morning that our mules were 
loaded and the long caravan started off. Groves and gardens became 
rarer, and the silent, dark desert surrounded us. The bells tinkled, and 
the bronze mule-bells round the necks of the leaders sounded their dong- 
dong. Before dawn, lurking shadows appeared here and there at the 
sides of the road. They were jackals and hyenas, returning to their 
dens from their nocturnal raids. 

At half-past four, the sun rose over the desert; and four hours 
later, we halted at the caravansary of Ben-i-Said. ‘The mules were 
freed from their burdens, and the men lay down to sleep through the 
warmest hours of the day: | 

In the little city of Bakuba, on the Diyala River, a squad of soldiers, 
guarding the frontier, surrounded me, and declared that because my 
Swedish passport bore no visé I would not be permitted to cross the 
border between Turkey and Persia. When they tried by force to lay 
hold of my modest possessions, 
I defended them with the cour- 
age of a lion. A scuffle ensued, 
in which my Arabian fellow trav- 
ellers sided with me. The fight 
ended with our going to the Gov- 
ernor, who regularized my pa- 
pers for a fee of six kran. 

During the next night’s ride, 
I fought desperately against 
sleep; but for long spells I was 
asleep in the saddle. Once, 
when my horse shied, and gave HYENAS FEASTING ON A DEAD CAMEL, 
_a jerk at the sight of a dead 
camel, I found myself on the ground before I realized what had 
happened. The animal galloped away in the darkness, but was 


46 MY cLIFEVAS AWN? EX@RORER 


caught by a couple of the Arabs; and by that time I was thoroughly 
awake. 

On the evening of June 9, we were overtaken by an old Arab of our 
party, who rode a genuine, blooded Arabian horse. I had just decided 
to abandon the caravan, as I did not relish the thought of having to 
travel the entire distance of one hundred and eighty miles to Kerman- 
shah at night, when the landscape was enveloped in darkness. I could 
not carry out that plan by myself; so I began a cautious conversation 
with the Chaldean merchant and the newly-arrived Arab. The former 
dissuaded me strongly, saying we would be attacked by Kurd robbers and 
killed. ‘The latter was not afraid; but he demanded twenty-five kran a 
day for his splendid horse, though I had already paid in full for the 
journey. But, by riding with him, I would reach Kermanshah in four 
days, instead of in nine nights. What would happen afterwards, when 
my pockets were absolutely empty of money, remained to be seen. After 
all, death by starvation was not imminent. I might get a job as a mule- 
driver in a caravan, or beg my way like a dervish. 

But another Arab was eavesdropping, and he betrayed our plan to 
his companions. ‘They were firm in their refusal to let us depart. One 
infidel more or less did not matter, but a horse was not lightly to be 
lost. I pretended to yield, and we proceeded on our night-journey as 
usual. ‘The moon was up. The hours passed slowly. Lulled by the 
monotonous tinkling of the bells, the tired merchants fell asleep on their 
horses. A few of them had been singing, to ward off sleep, but they 
soon stopped. No one seemed aware of the fact that the old Arab and 
I were riding side by side. Tempted by my shiny, silver coins, he was 
going to defy his companions. Slowly and imperceptibly we advanced to 
the head of the caravan. There we stayed till the moon went down and 
it got quite dark. Then we drew away little by little. The sound of the 
bells drowned the tramping of our horses. We increased our speed, 
while the tinkling of the bells grew fainter, and finally died away alto- 
gether. Then I pressed my heels into my horse’s sides, and, with my 
companion, rode at a quick trot in the direction of Kermanshah. 

After sunrise, we halted for a while at a village. The storks were 
coming home to their nests, with frogs in their bills. ‘Then up and into 
the saddle again! A heavy rain was lashing us and the earth. The last 
palms were behind us. We were in the dangerous mountain-region, the 


AN ADVENTUROUS RIDE 47 


scene of many assaults and robberies. My revolver was ready, but we 
met only peaceful riders, pedestrians, and caravans. 

A group of pilgrims, mounted on mules, was on its way to Bagdad, 
Damascus, and Mecca. The greatest desire of their lives would be 
attained, when they viewed the Holy City from the top of Mt. Arafat. 
And after saying their prayers at Kaaba, that sacred black stone, they 
would acquire the honourable title of Hadji, or ‘‘Pilgrim to Mecca.” 

In a district regarded as particularly unsafe, we joined a caravan 
going in our direction. For a time, also, a small troop of Persian 
soldiers, in white-and-blue cloaks and silver-embroidered belts, kept us 
company. They performed all kinds of equestrian feats, after which 
they asked to be rewarded for having saved me from robbers, into 
whose hands they declared I must have fallen, but for them. I had no 
money to give them, and could save my honour only by asseverating that 
I had never asked for their protection. 

On June 13, we entered Kermanshah, riding through its noisy 
bazaars, where we had to elbow our way among mules, dervishes, cara- 
vans, horsemen, buyers, and traders. 

In the court of a caravansary, my old Arab dismounted, and I 
followed his example. After paying him one hundred kran for the hired 
horse, I still owned a few silver coins; but when the old man persistently 
(and properly) demanded a tip for the happily-completed journey, he 
got them too. I kept only one small coin, worth about fifteen cents, 
with which to buy a couple of eggs, a piece of bread, and a few glasses 
of tea, for supper. Then I took leave of the old man, threw my be- 
longings over my shoulder, and walked into the town. 

There was not a single European in Kermanshah, and I was with- — 
out letters of introduction to Mohammedans. Not even in the desert 
did I ever feel so lonely and abandoned as here. I sat down to think on 
a dilapidated, clay wall, and watched the passing throng. ‘The people 
looked at me as though I were a wild animal, and they gathered about 
me in a noisy group. Not one of them was as poor as I. What in the 
world was I to do? Only a few hours remained until twilight, and 
where was I to spend the night, safe from jackals? Crowds are always 
cruel, and who cared about an infidel, a Christian dog? 

“T suppose I shall have to sell my saddle and my blanket,” thought I. 

But all at once I remembered that in Bushir and Bagdad I had 
heard of Aga Mohammed Hassan, a rich Arab merchant, whose cara- 


40 MY SULLFE OAS) ANMERPUORER 


vans went all over western Asia, between Herat and Jerusalem, Samar- 
kand and Mecca. Furthermore, he was wakil-et-dovlet-i-Inglis, that is, 
‘‘Agent of the British Empire,” in western Persia. He was my man! 
If he should throw me out, I would have to go to a caravansary and 
get a job in a caravan. 

I rose and asked a kind-looking man if he knew where Aga Mo- 
hammed Hassan lived. “Oh, yes,” he replied. ‘Come along.” We 
soon stopped before a door in a wall, and knocked on a plate with an 

iron knocker. The doorkeeper opened. I told him my errand, and he 
took me through a garden to a palatial house, ran up a flight of stairs, 
and soon returned to inform me that the wealthy merchant would re- 
ceive me. 

I was taken through stately rooms, decorated with Persian rugs, 
hangings, and fabrics from Kashmir, divans and bronzes, and finally 

came to Aga Mohammed Has- 
san’s study. He was seated ona 
floor-rug, surrounded by heaps 
of documents and letters. A 
couple of secretaries were writ- 
ing from his dictation, while sev- 
eral visitors stood by the walls. 
Aga Mohammed Hassan was 
an elderly man, with a grizzled 
beard. He had a kind and noble 
appearance. He wore eye- 
glasses, a white turban, and a 
white-silk cloak, interwoven with 
gold threads. He rose and in- 
vited me to come forward. I 
walked over the soft rugs in my 
dusty top-boots and my worn 
garments, the only ones I pos- 
THE WEALTHY ARABIAN MERCHANT, AGA MO- gecgced, He extended his hand 
HAMMED HASSAN, RECEIVES ME WITH GREAT . 
ae i and asked me to sit down. He 
inquired about my journey and 
my plans. To all my answers he nodded comprehendingly. The only 
stumbling-block for him was Sweden and its geographical location. I 
tried to orientate him by saying that Sweden was between England and 


AN ADVENTUROUS RIDE 49 


Russia. Pondering awhile, he asked if I was from the country where 
Temirbash was king, Temirbash, or the “Iron Head,’ being the name 
by which Charles XII is famous in the Orient to this day. 

“Yes,” I replied, “I am from the country where Temirbash was 
king.”’ : 

Then Aga Mohammed Hassan’s face was lit up, and he bent his 
head, as if paying tribute to a great memory. He said: 

“You must stay here as my guest for six months. All I own is 
yours, you have but to command. You must now excuse me, for my 
duties tie me down to my work; but the mirzas who will be your ser- 
vants will take you to a house in my garden, where I hope you will make 
yourself at home.” 

Thereupon I accompanied Khadik Effendi and Mirza Misak to a 
nearby house, in gorgeous Persian style, with elaborate rooms, lovely - 
rugs, black-silk divans, and sparkling, crystal chandeliers. I heaved a 
sigh of relief, and was tempted to embrace the two men allotted to my 
service. Only half an hour before, I had stood in the dust of the street, 
a tatterdemalion, surrounded by other tatterdemalions; and now Alad- 
din’s lamp was burning before my eyes with a clear light, and through 
the magic power of Fate I had been changed into a prince of the 
“Arabian Nights.” 

While we were chatting, some servants, silent as ghosts, entered the 
room, spread a thin cloth on the rug, and served a dinner to which I did 
full justice. There were small pieces of mutton, broiled on a spit, bowls 
filled to the brim with chicken, pilaff (rice), cheese, bread, sherbet (a 
drink made of date-juice and sugar), and, at the end, Turkish coffee 
and kalian, the Persian hookah or water-pipe. 

When, at last, I wanted to go to bed, a divan was placed on one 
of the marble walls in the garden, at the edge of a marble basin, in the 
water of which goldfish played, and from the centre of which a jet, 
clear as crystal and fine as a hair, shot up, glistening in the moonlight 
like silver. The air was summer-like and fragrant with the scent of 
innumerable roses and lilacs. How different from the dirty caravan- 
saries! It was like a fairy-tale or a dream. 

The night was certainly delicious; yet I longed for the morning, to 
try out Aga Mohammed Hassan’s horses. As early as I dared, I 
beckoned to a servant, and soon the horses were standing ready saddled 


50 M YL IEE VAS ARG Ir Ook Bak 


outside my door. With Mirza Misak and a gulam (groom) I rode to 
Tak-i-Bostan, the Sassanian kings’ grotto. ‘There I saw figures, in 
high relief, carved from the solid mountain, representing mounted kings, 
from about 380 A.D., and Khosru II Parvez (590-628 A.D.), in armour, 
lance in hand, riding Shabdez, his spirited war-horse; also representa- 
tions of royal hunting-expeditions, perfectly executed, with elephants to 
pursue boars, horses for antelopes, and boats for sea-fowl. 

The days passed with excursions and banquets, but my pockets were 
as empty as ever. I had not a copper to give to a beggar; yet I tried 
to preserve the calm assurance of a gentleman, at least outwardly. But 
the situation could not be prolonged indefinitely; so, finally, I picked 
up courage, and confided to Khadik Effendi that my journey had 
lengthened beyond my calculations, and that I did not have a farthing 
left. He was surprised, but smiled’ compassionately. (Had he sus- 
pected something of the kind?) And then he spoke these words, which 
I shall never forget: ‘You may have as much money as you want from 
Aga Hassan.” | 

My departure was fixed for June 16, after midnight. I was to 
accompany the courier, who travelled with a convoy of three armed 
horsemen as a protection against robbers. He looked at me doubtfully, 
and declared that I would probably be outdistanced, because, during the 
entire stretch between Kermanshah and Teheran, nearly three hundred 
miles, he was allowed only one day’s or night’s rest, in the city of Hama- 
dan. At the other stations, he was permitted to tarry only long enough 
to change horses, and get his meal of eggs, bread, fruit, and tea. But 
I was twenty, and proud; and I decided that even at the risk of being 
shaken to pieces in the saddle, I would show Ali Akbar, the mail-guard, 
that I could stand it. 

At midnight, I feasted for the last time with Aga Mohammed Has- 
san. We talked about Europe and Asia. He beamed with kindness 
and benevolence, but neither he nor I said a word about my financial 
ruin. I rose, thanked him, and took my leave. Smilingly he wished 
me a happy journey. It is many years now, since he went to his final 
rest, near the tomb of some saint; but I preserve his image in my 
memory with love and gratitude. 

When, for the last time, I entered my “palace,” Mirza Misak handed 
me a leather bag, full of silver kran, a loan which I later duly repaid. 


AN ADVENTUROUS RIDE 51 


Thereupon I vaulted into the saddle, and rode out into the night with 
Ali Akbar and the three armed men. 

In truth, it proved to be a hard ride! During the first sixteen hours, 
we covered one hundred and two miles. On the following morning, the 
snow-covered peak of Alvand (10,700 feet) gleamed before us, and at 
its foot we spent our day of rest in Hamadan. I slept half the day; 
the other half I devoted to the Tomb of Esther and the ruins of 
Ecbatana. 

Thus we went on from village to village, arriving at a station dead- 
tired, throwing ourselves down on the hearthstone to rest, while fresh 
horses were saddled and tea was brewed, then flying away again, over 
mountains and through passes, across gardens and valleys, over bridges 


HUMAN CORPSES ON THEIR WAY TO KERBELA 


and brooks. During the day, we were scorched by the sun; and at night 
we frightened off the hyenas, which were feasting on the remains of 
caravan-animals that had fallen by the wayside. We saw the sun 
rise, complete his course, and set; we saw the moon rise and set, floating 
like a silver shell, among the stars, in a blue-black sky. Once we met a 
funeral-caravan, identifiable beforehand by the stench arising from the 
dead bodies, which were wrapped in blankets, and were being borne by 
mules to Kerbela, to rest near the sepulchre of Imam Hussain. When, 
at last, we rode into Teheran, in the early morning of June 21, none 
of us had slept a wink during the preceding fifty-five hours. Each of us 
had worn out nine horses. 

After a badly-needed rest, I rode across the Elburz Mountains to 
Barfrush, on the Caspian Sea, I proceeded by boat along the Turkoman 


52 MY: (LIF EAS SANS BAG DORE 


shore to Krasnovodsk, thence to Baku, continuing by train, via Tiflis, 
to Batum, on the Black Sea, and thence by boat to Constantinople. In 
Adrianople, I was arrested, on account of my sketch-book. I arrived in 
Sofia on the 24th of August, and came near being shot by the guard, as 
I walked too close to the castle. Only three days had elapsed since the 
revolution which had cost Alexander of Battenberg his throne. At 
Stralsund, I boarded a Swedish steamer, and was soon received with 
rejoicing by my parents, brother, and sisters. Thus ended my first long 
journey on Asiatic soil. 


COE AES Tae ie Mel 


Constantinople 


sala and Berlin, and also at the Stockholm Hogskola (literally 

“high school,’ but actually the equivalent of an American col- 

lege). My teacher in Berlin was Baron Ferdinand von Richt- 
hofen, famous for his travels in China, and the Biateet authority of 
his day on the geography of Asia. 

I now also made my debut as an author. In a volume illustrated by 
my own sketches, I told the story of my Persian journey. As I had 
never before written for publication, I hardly trusted my ears when a 
kind old publisher came to my home and offered me six hundred dollars 
for the right to publish my travel-experiences. I had only hoped to 
get the book published without having to pay for it myself and here was 
an amiable old gentleman, willing to buy my manuscript for a sum 
which, in my circumstances, seemed enormous. Fortunately, I grasped 
the importance of the situation, became a diplomat, quickly knitted my 
brows, and answered that the fee offered was not at all commensurate 
with the extreme dangers and hardships of the journey. But finally I 
yielded, and accepted the offer. As a matter of fact, I was ready to 
leap for joy. 

Encouraged by this success, I translated and abridged the travels 
of the Russian general, N. M. Przhevalsky, in the interior of Asia, pub- 
lishing them in one volume. As this was not an original work of mine, 
I got only two hundred dollars for it. 

In the summer of 1889, Stockholm was the scene of a Congress of 
Orientalists, and our streets were filled with natives of Asia and Africa. 
Among the Asiatics were four distinguished Persians, charged by Shah 
Nasr-ed-Din to present a royal decoration to King Oscar II. It was like 
a breeze from home to speak to these sons of Persia, and I longed to 
revisit their country more than ever. Aladdin’s lamp was lit anew, and 
it burned with as clear a flame as in the garden of Aga Mohammed 
Hassan. 


| NOW studied geography and geology at the Universities of Up- 


53 


54 MY UPDEE AS. .AuN eR 


I was spending a month in autumn with my mother and a sister on 
the seacoast south of Stockholm, on a farm belonging to Dalbyé, the 
estate of Nordenskidld, the hero of the “Vega.” One day, the mail 
brought a letter from my father which read: “You must be in town to- 
morrow at eleven o'clock, in order to pay your respects to the Prime 
Minister. The King is going to send an embassy to the Shah of Persia 
in the spring, and you are to go along. Hurrah!”’ 

The cottage in which we were staying resounded with hurrahs. We 
sat for hours, discussing the event. ‘There was hardly any sleep that 
night; for I had to get up at four o'clock. ‘Transit between Dalbyo and 
Stockholm was wretched. J had to walk through forests, and row seven 
miles across the archipelago, to make the steamer-landing. But I ran 
through the forest and flew like a wild duck across the water, and ar- 
rived in Stockholm on time! 

Sweden and Norway being still united under the same crown at that 
time, the King appointed F. W. Treschow, Chamberlain to the King, a 
Norwegian, to head the embassy. C. E. von Geijer was appointed sec- 
retary, Count Claes Lewenhaupt military attaché, and myself interpre- 
ter. We departed early in April, 1890, crossed the Continent, and ar- 
rived in Constantinople in Ramadan, the month of fasting. 

Constantinople is one of the most beautiful cities in the world, 
situated as it is on the narrow Bosporus, the Sea of Marmora, and the 
Dardanelles, which latter connects two seas and separates two conti- 
nents. As in Rome and Moscow, there are seven hills in the city. Its 
chief section is Stamboul, the specifically Turkish town, situated on a 
triangular tongue of land, protected on the land side by a wall with’ 
towers, and separated from Pera and Galata by a deep bay, the Golden 
Horn. Stamboul is a wavy sea of white and brightly-coloured houses, 
above which rise the mighty cupolas and tall, slender minarets of the 
mosques. During Ramadan evenings, the mosques are illuminated by 
hundreds of thousand of lights, arranged between the minarets so as to 
form the names of the Prophet and the holy Imams. 

Biggest and most beautiful of all the temples of Stamboul is the 
Church of St. Sophia, the “Holy Wisdom,” solemnly dedicated, in 
548 A.D., by Justinian, the Byzantine emperor. The dome, with its 
galleries, is supported by one hundred columns, some of them of dark- 
green marble, others of dark-red porphyry. 

In those days, the Christian cross surmounted the dome. But nine 


CONSTANTINOPLE . 55 


THE GREEK BISHOP 


centuries passed, and one warm summer night, on the 29th of May, 
1453, Mohammed the Conqueror and his wild hordes, under the green 
flag of the Prophet, were standing outside the city gates. After a heroic 
defense, Constantine, the last emperor, having doffed his purple 


56 MY  LIRE AStAN) EXP WO Rt R 


cloak, fell, unrecognized, among the piles of corpses. Observing the 
splendour of Constantine’s palace, the victorious Sultan was seized with 
melancholy at the thought of the transitoriness of life and exclaimed, 
in the words of the Persian poet: ‘“The spider has spun its web in the 
imperial palace, and the owl sings its twilight song from the tower of 
Afrasiab.”’ 

A hundred thousand terror-stricken Christians took refuge in the 
Church of St. Sophia, and barred the doors. But the Turks, maddened 
by blood-lust, battered down the doors, and rushed in. An awful 
slaughter began. At the high-altar stood a Greek bishop, in pontifical 
robes, reading the mass for the dead in a loud voice. Eventually he 
stood alone. Then he broke off in the middle of a sentence, took the 
communion-chalice, and mounted the stairs leading to the upper galleries. 
Like hungry wolves the Turks rushed after him. He directed his steps 
toward a wall, where a door opened. He entered, and the door closed 
again. In vain did the soldiers attack the wall with spears and axes. 
For more than four and a half centuries the Greeks have blindly be- 
lieved that on the day when the Church of St. Sophia fell into the hands 
of the Christians again, the wall would open, and the bishop step out, 
with the chalice in his hand. At the high-altar he would continue the 
mass from the exact point at which he had been interrupted by the 
Turks. Nevertheless, during the last period of the World War, when 
Constantinople was held by the troops of the Allies, the bishop did not 
appear. 

At the time of our visit, the crescent rested safely on the dome and 
the minarets, from the circular balconies of which the hours of prayer 
were proclaimed by the muezzin. Loud and clear in four directions, 
his voice rang out: ‘Allah is great! There is no other god but Allah! 
Mohammed is Allah’s prophet! Come to prayer. Come to eternal 
bliss. Allah is great! La illaha il Allah!” | 

From the galleries of the great mosque, which was lit by innumer- — 
able oil-lamps, we saw thousands of the faithful, deep in prayer. 

Mohammed the Conqueror laid the foundation of the seraglio, or 
palace, where twenty-five sultans have reigned until Abdul Mejid built 
the Dolma Bagche on the Bosporus, exactly four hundred years after 
the conquest. ‘The seraglio occupies the highest point in the city. Its 
pinnacles are the first to be purpled by the morning light, and the last 
to pale when the evening glow fades. There is a grand view from its 


CONS LAN TEN OP LE 57 


terraces, over the Sea of Marmora, the Golden Horn, and the Asiatic 
coast. 

The seraglio consists of several groups of buildings and courts, 
separated by gates. The Orta Kapu, or ‘Middle Gate,” at the Court 
of the Janizaries, consists of two pairs of doors, between which is a 
dark room, with vaults. A pasha coming there, in response to a sum- 
mons from the Sultan, and hearing the first pair of doors slammed to 
behind him, without the opposite pair opening, understood that his hour 
had struck; for it was there that pashas who fell from grace were exe- 
cuted. 

Inside the third gate, Bab-i-Seadet, the “Gate of Felicity,” is the 
treasury, where, among other valuables, are the gold throne, pearls, 
rubies, and emeralds which Sultan Selim I seized from Shah Ismail of 
Persia. The Prophet’s flag, cloak, staff, sabre, and bow are preserved 
in a secluded part of the palace, where 
no stranger is admitted. Only once a 
year did the Sultan betake himself to 
that sacred spot. 

One day, we were invited to the Sul- 
tan’s iftar, the evening meal in the 
month of Ramadan. It was served in 
the Yildiz Kiosk. The duties of host 
were performed by Osman Ghasi Pasha, 
famous for the bravery with which he 
defended Plevna, in 1877, when he held 
out against the superior force of the 
Russians for more than four months. 
The dining-room was small and dark- 
coloured, but flooded with light. Out- 
side, the daylight was fading. And 3 
while waiting for the sunset-gun, all sat | LO gga 
as silent as statues, leaning over plates 
of solid gold. At last the gun was fired, | ap ee ett aera Wis 
and the footmen served the dinner. THE TURKS 

Afterwards, we were received by 
Abdul Hamid II. He was a small man, with fine, pale features, bluish- 
black beard, penetrating, dark eyes, and a Roman nose. He wore a 
red fez and a long, dark-blue uniform-coat. His left hand rested on the 


58 MY LIFE AS SAN, JECT RR 


handle of his scimitar; and with a gracious nod he received the holograph 
letter which our King had charged us to deliver to him. | 

Nor did we neglect to visit the City of the Dead. ‘There is an at- 
mosphere of quiet and peace about the cemeteries outside Stamboul, and 
in Scutari. Tall, dark-green cypresses rise between the graves, and 
countless monuments mark the last resting-place of earth’s weary pil- 
grims. A bowl-shaped hollow is often found on the horizontal monu- 
ments. Rain-water accumulates there, and small birds come to drink. 
On these visits, their song brings comfort to the dead who slumber be- 
neath the stones. 


CATA RR Be ye Vek} 
An Ambassador to the Shah of Persia 


N the 30th of April, we boarded the Russian ship ‘Rostoy- 
Odessa,” and steamed out through the Bosporus, with the 
European coast on our left, the Asiatic on our right, and on 
all sides a landscape fascinating in its peculiar beauty. To- 

ward evening, the last lighthouses disappeared, and we glided out onto 
the Black Sea. I was familiar with the way we were about to take. We 
called at the towns on the coast of Asia Minor, landed at Batum, and 
went by rail, via Tiflis, to Baku. I saw the same scenes as on my former 
visit, the same caravans, riders, and shepherds, and the same picturesque 
carts, drawn by grey buffaloes. 

This time, too, we visited the Nobel oil-fields at Balakhany. There 
were then (1890) four hundred and ten wells, one hundred and sixteen 
of which belonged to the Nobels. Of these, forty were being pumped, 
while twenty-five were being deepened. One of them gushed to the 
extent of 150,000 puds in twenty-four hours. The wells were generally 
120 to 150 fathoms deep, and the largest pipe-line was twenty-four inches 
in diameter. Some 230,000 puds of crude oil were daily piped to the 
Black ‘City, through two lines, yielding, after distillation, 60,000 puds of 
pure oil a day. 

On the 11th of May, late in the evening, we boarded the steamship 
“Mikhajl,” accompanied by some of Nobel’s engineers. We were sitting 
aft, chatting, when we heard penetrating steam-whistles sounding on all 
sides. White flames rose from the Black City, dense brown clouds of 
smoke belching above them. The Swedish engineers hurried ashore, and 
were rushed to the seat of the fire in isvostschiks. In the light of the 
flames, the ‘‘Mikhajl’’ cast off, and we headed south for the Persian 
coast. 

On disembarking at Enseli, trumpets blared, and a forty-gun salute 
was fired in our honour. On the shore stood two high dignitaries of the 
country, wearing uniforms resplendent with gold galloons and gewgaws, 

59 


60 MY -LIPE “AS “AN VEX PUGORER 


with the cockades of the sun and the lion in their lambskin caps. One 
of them was General Mohammed Aga, the mahmandar, or official host, 
who bade us welcome on behalf of the Shah. He was to accompany us 
to Teheran with a big suite, escort, and caravans. | 

We were towed in a boat to Resht by runners in loose garments, who 
reminded me of forest trolls, or Robin Goodfellows, as they darted in 
and out among bushes and beds of reeds. The Governor entertained 
us at dastarkhan, a meal served on fifty platters. We left Resht on the 
16th of May. ‘Tents, rugs, beds, equipment, and provisions burdened 
forty-four mules. The escort of soldiers, in their black uniforms, and 
armed with rifles, sabres, and pistols, had their own caravans. 

And now began a journey the like of which is to be found only in 
ancient narratives. The Persians displayed the pomp and splendour 
that were due to representatives of a great power. Spring was at its 
height, the forest was heavy with fragrance, every brook rippled, and 
all the song-birds greeted our brilliant procession. Each day’s journey 
was divided into two stages, one in the morning, the other in the eve- 
ning. The warm hours of the day, when the temperature rose to more 
than 86°, were spent in airy tents, pitched under olive and mulberry 
trees. At every village through which we passed, we were welcomed by 
the elders, white-bearded old men, wearing kaftans that reached to their 
feet, and high, white turbans. 

Our entry into Kazvin surpassed everything we had hitherto ex- 
perienced. Far outside the city, the Mayor and a large escort met us, 
and later the Governor, with a hundred horsemen. Our procession 
swelled gradually into an enormous cavalcade, trotting along the road, 
and sometimes disappearing in clouds of yellow-grey dust. Two heralds 
rode ahead, one in black, the other in red, and both in white lambskin 
caps and silver galloons. They were followed by horsemen, with blar- 
ing trumpets, and, on either side, by running soldiers in blue uniforms. 
They executed a jigitovka (equestrian manceuvres), in which one neck- 
breaking feat followed another. Sometimes they stood on their saddles 
while galloping at top speed, or threw themselves downwards, while in 
full career, to snatch an object from the ground. Sometimes they threw 
their rifles in the air, discharging them on the instant of their recovery, 
or they would juggle thin, naked sabres, so that the blades flashed in 
the sunshine. Thus our noisy procession went along through vineyards 


ANCAMBASSADGOR TO THE SHAH 61 


and gardens, under the porcelain-tower of the gate of Kazvin, through 
bazaars, and across open squares. 

Once we met a company quite different from ours. It was a Shiah 
funeral-procession. ‘Two red banners and two black streamers came 
first, then huge trays filled with bread, rice, and sweets, with burning 
candles at the corners. Then followed a group of men, keening plain- 
tively: ‘Hussain, Hassan.” Behind them, the dead man’s grey horse 
was led, with a gorgeous saddle and an embroidered cloth, the pommel 
bearing a green turban, the symbol of the owner’s descent from the 
Prophet. The bier was high-arched, and covered with brown blankets. 
Any one of the spectators was allowed to relieve the carriers, and every- 


ENTERING KAZVIN 


body wanted to do so, for the dead man had been a high-priest of great 
distinction. ‘The procession closed with an immense crowd of priests 
in white turbans. 

Having received the honours due us in Kazvin, we proceeded by car- 
riage to Teheran. Once we found ourselves in a shower of hail, and our 
vehicles became covered with slush. On another occasion, the road was 
blocked by a caravan of mules, laden with rugs. Hearing the carriages 
rattle behind them, the mules lost their heads and went off at a slow 
gallop. The ropes which bound their loads became loose, and one rug 
after another slid off. As their burdens grew lighter, the mules in- 


62 MY DADE 0S? AU INS ER ees Oo 


creased their speed. Gay and boisterous, they scampered away in front 
of the carriages. We laughed at this spectacle till we choked; but the 
poor caravan-conductors were far from laughing, as they went along 
picking their dusty rugs from off the road. 

On the day that we entered Teheran, the Oriental splendour reached 
its climax. How different from my last entry! Then I had come as a 
poor student; now I came as one of the King’s ambassadors. Whole 
regiments of cavalry were out in full uniform, and infantry lined the 
streets. Mounted bands played the Swedish national anthem, and we 
were received in a garden by the high dignitaries of the country. Here 
we arranged our cavalcade. Arabian horses, with saddle-cloths em- 
broidered in gold and silver, and panther-skins under the saddles, were 
given to us. Even the horses took fire from the music, and went danc- 
ing gracefully through the city gate. “The whole population seemed to 
be afoot to witness our entry. ‘The procession ended in a garden, the 
like of which, for luxuriance and beauty, I had never seen before. In 
its centre stood the stately palace of Emaret Sepa Salar (the Marshal’s 
Palace), where we were to reside. 

One feast succeeded another for twelve days. We had cavaliers 
and officers waiting on us and following us everywhere like shadows. 
At meals, the Shah’s brother-in-law, fine, old Yahiya Khan, presided; 
and in the evenings, a band played near the large, marble basin in front 
of the palace. 

A few days after our arrival, we were summoned to an audience, 
escorted by chamberlains and state officials, in royal carriages, each 
drawn by four white horses with violet-dyed tails. Heralds, with silver 
staffs and ferrashs, dressed in red, ran ahead of us. 

After some minutes’ wait in an antechamber, a courtier announced 
that Ala Hasret (his Majesty) was ready to receive us. We were 
taken to a large room, decorated in fine Persian style, with rugs and 
hangings, along the walls of which a score of courtiers, ministers, and 
generals in old-fashioned, embroidered kaftans were lined up, as motion- 
less as statues. ! 

Shah Nasr-ed-Din was standing by the outer wall, between a single 
huge window, extending to the floor, and the famous peacock-throne. 
This strange piece of furniture, resembling a gigantic chair, with a back 
and an elongated seat, and with stairs leading up to it from the floor, 
is plated with thick gold, and set with precious stones in the form of an 


AN AMBASSADOR TO THE SHAH 63 


expanded peacock-tail. It was taken from the Great Mogul of Delhi, 
nearly two hundred years before, by Nadir Shah, during his Indian 
campaign. — 

Shah Nasr-ed-Din was in black. On his breast he wore forty-eight 
enormous diamonds, and on each epaulet three large emeralds. On his 
black cap was a diamond clasp, and at his side hung a sabre, the sheath 
of which was studded with gems. He 
observed us fixedly. He carried him- 
self royally, and stood there like a 
real Asiatic despot, conscious of his 
superiority and power. 

The head of our embassy delivered 
the decoration our King had sent to his 
Persian cousin. After it had been re- 
ceived by the interpreter and shown 
to the Shah, he conversed with each 
one of us for a while, asking several 
questions about Sweden and Norway. 
He told us that he had been in Europe 
three times, and that he intended to 
visit Sweden and America on his next 
journey. 

There was an old-Persian glamour 
about the whole ceremony. But when 
I was received by Nasr-ed-Din’s son, 
Shah Mussaffar-ed-Din, fifteen years DARREN oidnet MHL ache Omit Hor 
later, it had faded considerably; and Peg iih: 
to-day it is gone altogether. 

In the days that followed, everything was done for our amusement 
and entertainment. A splendid feast was given in our honour at the 
royal palace, with all the state dignitaries present, and the Shah, in- 
visible, watching us from a gallery. 

We were shown the Shah’s museum, the lock of which is sealed, and 
broken only for distinguished guests. Among its treasures we saw the 
diamond Daria-i-nur, or “Sea of Light,” and a terrestrial globe, two 
feet in diameter, on which the oceans were represented by closely-set 
turquoises, the Arctic regions by diamonds clear as crystal, and Teheran 
by another jewel. We also saw glass cubes entirely filled with real 


Pere 


F 
i 
TF fe 
< 
oi 
Ma 
7 
(Os 
1S, 
+ ey 
. 
ee 
4 is) 
ran 
cS 


64 MY LIFE AS ANVE APD ORER 


pearls from the Bahrein Islands, turquoises from Nishapur, and rubies 
from Badakshan. 

In the court in front of the Shah’s stable, noble specimens of his 
nine hundred horses were displayed, each one ridden by a groom. 

Most splendid of all were the maneuvres on a field outside the city. 
The troops, 14,000 strong, were drawn up in a square; and, in the train 
of the Shah, we rode by in review. ‘Then the Shah established himself 
in a huge, red tent, and we did likewise in a rose-coloured one alongside 
of it, while the infantry marched past, saluting the monarch, and the 
cavalry spurred forward wildly. ‘The most beautiful were the horse- 
men, clad in red cloaks, their heads bound with red fillets. 

Finally, one day, we rode out to the ruins of Rages, the ancient city 
that flourished in the days of Salmanasar, and which is mentioned in the 
Book of Tobit. Alexander the Great rested there, when he was a day’s 
march from the “Caspian Gates.’”’ More than a thousand years later, 
the city was beautified by the Caliph Al-Mansur. Within its walls 
Harun-ar-Rashid was born; and the Arabs sang of its glory, calling it 
the Gate of the Gates of the Earth. In the thirteenth century, Rages 
was totally destroyed by the Mongols, and now only a well-preserved 
tower rises above the ruins. 

At Teheran, I found myself in a dilemma. Should I rest content 
with these mere feasts, that left no greater aftermath than do common 
fireworks? Ought I not rather to use this opportunity to get farther 
into Asia, to continue, in fact, to the heart of the continent? Such a 
journey might be a valuable preparation for bigger undertakings. My 
desire to make my way, step by step, to the still-unvisited parts of the 
desert region, and to the Tibetan highlands, was irresistible. 

My travelling-companions of the embassy approved my plan. I 
telegraphed King Oscar for permission to continue eastward. The King 
not only assented, but also promised to pay the cost of my contemplated 
journey. | 

And so, when the other members of the embassy left Teheran, on 
the third of June, to return home by the route we had come, I remained 
with my friend Hybennet. I had funds sufficient to last me till I reached 
the Chinese border. 


CHAPTER VIII 
A Burial-Ground 


OROASTRIANISM is one of the oldest religions in the world. 

It was founded by Zoroaster. Its sacred books are called the 

Zend-Avesta. It was practised by one of the mightiest peoples 

of the earth, flourished for a period of a thousand years, con- 

tinued with diminishing vitality for another thousand years, and was 

finally crushed, in 640 A.D., when the Caliph Omar carried the banners 

of the Prophet against the Persians, whom he vanquished near Ecbatana. 

During the victorious progress of Islam, many of the Zoroastrians had 

already fled, in ships, from Hormus to Bombay. At present there are 

about 100,000 devotees left in India, and 8,000 in Persia. The sacred 
fire, therefore, is not yet extinguished. 

In a previous chapter, we described a visit to a recently-abandoned 
fire-temple at Surakhani. In Yezd, Persia, there are a score of them. 
But in olden times it was different. There were several fire-altars in 
Persepolis, and Xenophon relates: 


‘When Cyrus went out from his palace, horses were led be- 
fore him to be sacrificed to the sun, also a white-garlanded 
carriage for the sun. Thereafter came a carriage with horses 
decorated in purple, and after this followed men carrying a 
fire ona big hearth. Then the horse was sacrificed to the sun, 
whereupon a sacrifice was offered to the earth according to 
customs set down by the Magi.” 


Magianism obtained in Persia and India before the age of Zoroaster. 
The celestial bodies and the two elements, fire and water, were deified. 
Sorcery and witchcraft flourished. 

Zoroaster’s teaching was dualistic. It recognized one god, Ahura- 
mazda, the creator of all things light and good. Opposed to him was 


Ahriman, who represented the principle of darkness and evil, with evil- 
» 65 


66 MY DPR RAS SAN oR xSP IO RR 


minded demons in his train. The feud between Ahuramazda and Ahri- 
man was never-ending; and it was the duty of the righteous to help 
Ahuramazda to victory. 

The oldest sacred fire was the one that burned at Rages. The sun 
and the fire are symbols of God’s omnipotence. Nothing on earth more 
nearly approaches divine perfection than fire, because of the light, heat, 
and purifying cleanliness which it distributes. Dead bodies pollute the 
earth. The dead must therefore be buried on towers, separated from 
their surroundings by high walls. The road leading to the tower is also 
polluted by the passing of the corpse; but the way is purged, if a white 
or yellow dog, with black spots around his eyes, is led in the wake of the 
funeral-procession. The dog exorcises the demons. The flies that swarm 
about the exposed corpses are goblins, female demons in the service of 
Ahriman. Dead enemies do not pollute the earth, for they bear witness 
to the victory of good over evil. 

The fire-worshippers in Persia, known as Parsees, are despised and 
detested by the worshippers of Islam. Hence they seclude themselves 
in their own villages, that they may be able to devote themselves with- 
out interference to their religious observances. Many of them are 
merchants and gardeners. After thousands of years, they still follow 
the precepts of Zoroaster. A lamp burns in every house. Tobacco- 
smoking is a sin against fire; and if a fire breaks out, one must not ex- 
tinguish it, no mortal being allowed to fight the power of fire. 

When a Parsee dies, he is robed in white, a white cloth is wrapped 
round his head, oil-lamps are lit, and he is placed on an iron bier, with 
a piece of bread at his feet. If a dog, on being admitted to the death- 
room, eats the bread, the man is dead. Should the dog refuse to eat it, 
the soul is regarded as still inhabiting the body, and the corpse is al- 
lowed to remain until decomposition sets in. The dead man is then 
washed by the corpse-washer, who is considered to be impure, and in 
whose house no one dares set foot. | 

Four porters, in white clothes that have been washed in running 
water, carry the bier to the funeral-place, called the Tower of Silence. 
It is not really a tower, but a wall, two hundred and twenty-three feet in 
circumference, and almost twenty-three feet high. Inside this, the corpse 
is laid in a shallow, open, rectangular cavity. Finally, the clothes of the 
dead person are loosened and opened, the head-bandage is removed, the 
funeral-guests walk backwards to the wall, and return home. During 


A BURIAL-GROUND 67 


the funeral, vultures perch on the ridge of the wall, and ravens circle 
over the place. When all is quiet, it becomes their turn to be active; 
and before long the skeleton lies bare, drying up in the burning sun. 

The Parsees, or fire-worshippers, are said to be descended direct 
from the ancient followers of Zoroaster, and are thus the purest repre- 
sentatives of the Indo-European race. 

Prior to my departure from Stockholm, a famous professor of medi- 
cine and anthropology asked me to try to obtain and bring home, in one 
way or another, the crania of some of these fire-worshippers. Accord- 
ingly, in the middle of June, when summer was at its height, and the 
thermometer registered 106° in the shade, I set out with Dr. Hybennet 
for the Tower of Silence, the funeral-place of the fire-worshippers, 
southeast of Teheran. We chose the early hours of the afternoon for 
our raid, because then everybody kept indoors, on account of the heat. 

We took with us a kurchin, or soft saddlebag, in the two pockets of 
which we put straw, paper, and two watermelons, each the size of a 
man’s head. 

We drove, in a carriage, out through the gate of Shah Abdul Azim. 
The streets were as empty as dried-up river-beds. Camels, feeding on 
thistles, wandered about on the steppe outside the town, and here and 
there a cloud of dust passed over the baked earth like a ghost. 

We took the road through the village of Hashemabad, in order to 
borrow a crock of water and a ladder from a peasant. Arriving at the 
Tower of Silence, we leaned the ladder against the wall; but it proved 
to be too short, by about three feet. However, I climbed to the top 
rung, managed to get a good hold on the coping, and swung myself up. 
Then I gave Dr. Hybennet a helping hand. 

A rank, sickening smell of cadavers met us. Hybennet remained on 
the coping, to keep an eye on the driver, and to make sure that he was 
not spying on us, while I descended the cement stairs to the circular 
bowl of the funeral-place. There were sixty-one open, shallow graves. 
In about ten of them lay skeletons and corpses in various stages of putre- 
faction. Whitened and weather-beaten bones lay piled up alongside the 
wall. 

After some deliberation, I selected the corpses of three adult men. 
The freshest corpse had been there only a few days; yet its soft parts, 
the muscles and entrails, had already been torn away and devoured by 
birds of prey. The eyes had been picked out, but the rest of the face 


68 MY LIF EAS “ANY 2X PUDORER 


remained, dried up, and as hard as parchment. I detached the dead 
man’s skull and emptied it of its contents. I did the same with the sec- 
ond head. The third had been lying in the sun so long that its brains 
were dried up. 

We had taken the saddlebag and the crock of water with us over the 
wall, pretending that we were going to have lunch there. I used the 
water to wash my hands. Then I emptied the bag, wrapped the skulls 
in paper, after first filling them with straw, and then put them in the 
bag in place of the watermelons. The bag thus retained its shape; and 
there was nothing to arouse the driver’s suspicion, except the offensive 
smell, which may possibly have put strange ideas into his head. On our 
return to the carriage, we found the driver fast asleep, in the narrow 
shadow of the wall. As it was, he did not betray us. On the way back, 
we returned the crock and the ladder, and continued through the still- 
lifeless streets to Hybennet’s home. 

We buried the skulls in the ground, left them there for a month, 
and afterwards boiled them in milk, until they were as clear and white 
as ivory. 

The need for all this secrecy is obvious. What would the supersti- 
tious Persians and Parsees have thought of us, had they learned that 
we infidels were driving about, stealing skulls from their funeral-places? 
Besides, Hybennet was physician-in-ordinary to the Shah, and, specif- 
ically, his dentist. People might have supposed that we intended to 
remove the teeth from the jaws of the skulls for subsequent use in the 
Shah’s gracious mouth. There might have been disturbances and, riots, 
we might have been set upon, and finally delivered up to the people. 
But everything went off well. 

Nevertheless, on arriving at the pier, in Baku, on my way home, 
next year, I nearly got into trouble with the customs officials. All my 
belongings were examined most carefully, and at last three round objects, 
wrapped in paper and felt, and resembling footballs, rolled out on the 
floor. 

‘What is this?” asked the customs inspector. 

‘‘Human heads,” I answered, without blinking. 

“T beg your pardon? Human heads?” 

“Yes. Look, if you please!” | 

One of the balls was opened, and a skull grinned up at the inspectors. 
They stared at one another in perplexity. Finally, the surveyor said to 


A BURIAL-GROUND 69 


the others: ‘“Wrap the parcel up and put it all back!” And to me he 
said: ‘“Take your traps and get out of here as fast as you can.” He 
probably thought the skulls were evidence of a triple murder, and that 
it was the part of wisdom not to get mixed up in such an ugly affair. 

Those Parsee skulls may be seen to this day in the Craniological 
Museum of Stockholm. 


CHAPTER IX 
To the Top of Demavend 


the Elburz Mountains, to escape the heat of Teheran and its 

environs. The departure this year was set for the fourth of 

July. As Dr. Hybennet’s guest, I was invited by the Shah to 
join the party. We were to be gone for more than a month. One other 
European was, as a matter of course, attached to the party. This was 
Dr. Feuvrier, a Frenchman, who was first physician-in-ordinary to the 
Shah. Very few Europeans have, indeed, ever taken part in these royal 
excursions. 

The spectacle was as unique as it was enchanting and impressive. 
On the day before setting out, we were visited by a chamberlain, who 
informed us of the route, and presented me with a handful of Persian 
gold coins from the Shah, a custom which implied the wish that the 
receiver might never lack money. 

The journey took us northeast into the mountains, and to the basins 
of two rivers, the Jaje-rud and Lar, the former flowing south towards 
the desert, and the latter northward to the Caspian Sea. Our way 
included two high passes, the second being at an altitude of 9,500 feet. 

We had reached the mountains, and were following the winding 
paths across cliffs and passes, and through valleys and pastures, when 
we suddenly found the road entirely blocked, both ways, by the two 
thousand beasts of burden—camels, mules, and horses—which bore the 
tents, provisions, and other equipment of the Shah, his ministers, and 
servants. [Twelve hundred persons took part in the expedition, two 
hundred of whom were soldiers. When we encamped at night, a city 
of three hundred tents sprang up in the lonely valleys. 

Everyone except the servants had a duplicate set of tents. No 
matter how quickly we rode, after breaking camp in the morning, we 
would find the tents ready pitched at the next stopping-place. 

The Shah’s tents were borne by camels, decorated with tall, red 

7O 


Ks year, Shah Nasr-ed-Din would make a summer trip to 


TOUTHE TORPV Or DEMAYV END 71 


plumes. His boxes, covered with red cloth, edged with black, were 
carried by mules. His horses, too, wore red plumes; and the white 
horses had their tails dyed violet. 

The arrangement of the tents was always uniform. Everybody 
knew the place occupied by his tents, and how the tent-streets ran. The 
Shah, in addition to his big, red living-tent, had one each for dining and 
smoking, and several other tents for the ladies of his harem. How 
many women he had brought along from his harem was not definitely 
known; but some said there were forty. This number included the 
maids of the harem ladies. Almost daily we rode past royal wives, 
thickly veiled, sitting astride their horses. Nevertheless, etiquette and 
tact made us avert our faces when these ladies were near. Eunuchs and 
dwarfs rode before and after them. 

Surrounding the royal tents was a high screen of coarse, red cloth, 
on poles. This screen enclosed the inner royal courtyard. The outer 
court was enclosed by the tents that housed the main guard, the ferrashs, 
the supplies, the kitchen, etc. This was exactly the same tent-arrange- 
ment as the one which Xenophon tells us was used two thousand four 
hundred years before, in the camp of Cyrus. 

Emin-i-Sultan, the Grand Vizier, was responsible for keeping order 
in the moving city. The kitchen-master and commissary-general was 
Mej-ed-dovleh, a relative of the Shah. Other functionaries of note were 
the master of the horse, the chief of the saddle-chamber, the chief of 
the body-guard, the head of the wardrobe, the chief of the Shah’s bed- 
chamber (an old man, who always slept at the entrance of the Shah’s 
sleeping-tent), the chief of the eunuchs, the chief of the kalian (the 
water-pipe rinser), the head chef, the butler, the chief barber, the chief 
of the sakkas (the men who constantly sprinkle water round the Shah’s 
tent to lay the dust), and the chief of the ferrashs. 

Hybennet and I had tents in the centre of the large camp-city. We 
had one for ourselves, one for the kitchen, and one for our servants. 
It is impossible to convey an idea of the commotion that prevailed in 
the evenings. ‘The cries of the caravan-men and the gendarmerie, the 
jingle of bells, the neighing of horses, the braying of mules, and the 
roaring of camels were heard everywhere. At ten o’clock, a trumpet- 
signal indicated that only those who knew the day’s password would be 
permitted within a certain distance of the Shah’s tent. The watchman’s 
warning cry was frequently heard when unauthorized nocturnal walkers 


72 MY LIBEMVAS ANSE XRT OR eR 


were about. Gay camp-fires burned everywhere, lights shone from the 
tents, and anyone out calling on a friend was always preceded by a man 
carrying an oil-lamp in a paper lantern. 

Justice was dispensed in the camp by especially trustworthy men. 
If the Shah’s caravan-beasts trampled a villager’s crop, the complainant 
received damages. But those who made false claims were bastinadoed. 

The Shah would attend to the daily affairs of government with his 
ministers, and sometimes he would let his first interpreter, Etemad-e- 
Saltanet, read aloud from French newspapers. He often rode to the 
hunt with a large suite; and if the game was edible, he would distribute 
it among his suite, not forgetting us. When the expedition passed 
through a village, the people always came out to gaze at Shahinshah, 
the “King of Kings.’ At such times, he would distribute gold coins 
among them. When riding, he generally wore a brown coat and a black 
cap, and carried a black sunshade. The saddle and the saddle-cloth 
were embroidered in gold. 

On the banks of the Lar River, our angling produced the most 
delicious trout. Large, nomadic communities camped in that vicinity, 
in black and coloured tents. Sometimes I looked in upon them, and 
made sketches. Once, when I wanted to draw a picture of a nice-looking 
nomad girl, her father absolutely refused to let her pose. Questioned 
regarding his fears, he answered: “If the Shah sees her picture, he will 
want her for his harem.” 

As the Shah himself was somewhat addicted to drawing, he was 
much interested in my sketches, and he sometimes had me bring them 
to him in his tent. 

One interesting person who took part in this journey has not yet 
been mentioned. Asis-i-Sultan, which means ‘‘the king’s affection,” was 
a twelve-year-old, ugly, and consumptive whelp of a boy, the Shah’s 
living talisman or mascot. Without him, the Shah could not travel or 
undertake any enterprise, or, indeed, live. His superstitious affection 
for this unlovable person was said to have had its origin in a prophecy 
which limited the Shah’s years by the life of the boy. Thus the boy 
was looked after with the utmost solicitude. He had his own court, his 
dwarfs, jesters, negroes, masseuses, and servants to execute his slightest 
wish. And he was a marshal of the army. Because of his influence 
over the King, everyone was ready to stand on his head for him, though 
secretly they all wished him dead. 


TPO. THE TOP* OF DEMAVEND 73 


Nasr-ed-Din seemed always to need some living creature upon whom 
to bestow his affection. Prior to Asis-i-Sultan’s accession to power, 
fifty cats were the Shah’s favourites. These, too, had their own royal 
household; and whenever the Shah travelled, the cats were taken along 
in velvet-lined baskets. The name of the chief favourite was Babr 
Khan, or the tiger-cat. He had his breakfast daily at the Shah’s table. 
When, as sometimes happened, the cats multiplied, they swarmed on 
the palace rugs, and then, God help the minister who should trip over 
them! 

Allin all, our summer days passed most pleasantly. I strolled about, 
drawing and writing; and as I was the only person in camp who knew 
English, I was sometimes asked to translate English despatches to Emin- 
i-Sultan. When we were in the valley of the Lar, not far from Dem- 
avend, I was seized with an irresistible desire to ascend the 18,700 feet 
of this, the highest mountain in Persia. It had been climbed frequently 
by European diplomats at Teheran. 

Demavend was said to be a solfatara, a volcano no longer vio- 
lently active, composed of trachyte, porphyry, and lava, with a crater 
of sulphur half a kilometre in circumference, capped by eternal snow. 
In ancient times, Persian poets celebrated it in song. Its original name 
was said to have been Divband, or ‘‘the Home of the Spirits’; and even 
in our day, jinn and divs—good and evil be anes believed to dwell 
on its summit. 

When the Shah heard of my plan, he expressed great interest, and 
doubted whether I could reach the top without great preparations and 
a large escort. By his orders, the Grand Vizier wrote a letter to the 
elder of the village of Rahna, where the ascent was to begin, directing 
. that everything be done to expedite my journey. 

Jafar, one of the Shah’s men, fetched me on the morning of July 9; 
and we rode, I on a horse, he on a mule, to Rahna, where we spent the 
night. ‘The elder of the village declared, of course, that I had but to 
command and he would obey. I asked for the minimum of impedimenta, 
two reliable guides, and provisions for two days. Kerbelai Tagi and 
Ali were at once assigned to me. ‘They told of having made thirty 
journeys to the top of Demavend, to procure sulphur. 

The summit of Demavend was enveloped in clouds when we departed, 
at half-past four in the morning. The guides carried long, iron-tipped 
alpenstocks, together with our provisions and instruments. 


74 MY, LDIRE) AS ANE XPLORER 


We proceeded slowly, along steep gravel-slopes, between rocks, and 
across brooks. The whole day was thus consumed. At dusk the men 
stopped at a cave, where we were to pass the night. The top was still 
so far away, that I told them to continue. After dark, the terrain 
became so rough, that we had to proceed on foot among the rocks. 
When we reached the first snow, I ordered a halt for the night. We 
made a fire in'the scrub. ‘The smoke hung like a veil on the southern 
slope. We ate bread, eggs, and cheese, and then went to sleep under 
the open sky. 

The night was cold and windy; but we kept the fire going, and 
hugged ourselves, like hedgehogs, as close to its warming flames as 
possible. . 

At four o’clock the next morning, I was waked by Ali, who stood 
at my side, shouting ‘“‘Sahab berim!”’ (Sir, let us break up!). We drank 
a few mouthfuls of tea, ate some bread, and set out along a rocky ridge 
of porphyry and tuff. Demavend is shaped like a very regular volcano- 
cone. At an altitude of 11,000 feet, we came upon the ever-present 
snow, which lies like a cap on the skull of the mountain, and sends 
streaks down between the rocky ridges that extend along the slope. 
We made our way between two such snow-tongues. 

The sun rose from a clear sky, spreading its gold over this glorious, 
wild landscape. In the southwest, at the stone bridge of Pul-i-Pulur, 
the valley-bed appeared white-spotted. This was, in fact, the three 
hundred tents of the Shah’s camp, which had been moved thither the 
previous evening. But it soon became cloudy, and a hail-shower struck 
us like whip-lashes. We were forced to halt and crouch down between 
two rocks, the hail beating down on our backs. 

Afterwards, we continued the steep ascent. My guides stepped as 
lightly as chamois, but to me the walking seemed terribly heavy. I was 
no mountain-climber, I had had no practice, and I had never before 
tried to ascend a high peak. Every ten steps I had to stop and catch 
my breath, after which I would again take a few steps. My temples 
throbbed, I had a violent headache, and I was tired to death. 

The stony way ended, and we got into the snow. After a while, 
I threw myself headlong on its surface. Should I ever manage to get 
to the top? What was the good of it? Wouldn’t it be better to turn 
back? No, never! For the life of me I could not appear before the 
Shah and admit that I had failed. After a minute I fell asleep. But 


TOO THE sO PO Pop BeMAV END 75 


Ali pulled at me, calling again, “Sahab berim!” I rose and went on. 
The hours passed. At times the peak was infinitely distant, it seemed 
to me; at times it was shrouded in clouds or in whirling snow. Finally, 
Ali took off his girdle, and held one end firmly, while Kerbelai Tagi took 
the other, and I was jerked along at its centre. In this way they dragged 
me across the snow, which made things considerably easier. 

Again it cleared, and the sum- 
mit appeared to be nearer. We 
reached it at half-past four, after 
twelve hours’ toil. It was no 
small matter to get the water to 
boil. The temperature sank to 
29°, there was a strong wind, 
and it was biting-cold. I made 
a sketch, gathered a few speci- 
mens of sulphur, and admired 
the view through the rifts in the 
clouds, both toward the Caspian 
Sea and southward over the 

. TOP OF DEMAVEND. THE CRATER OF THE VOL-i 
plains around ‘T'eheran. CANO VISIBLE. ALTITUDE—18,700 FEET 

After a rest of three-quarters 
of an hour, I gave the order to start. My two guides took me to a 
point at the beginning of a crevasse, covered with snow, which tapered 
far down along the mountain- 
side. Here they squatted down 
on the thin crust of snow, pressed 
their iron-tipped staffs into the 
surface, and slid downhill at a 
breathless speed. I followed 
their example. We had to use 
our heels as brakes, and the snow 
sputtered before them like spray 
at the bow of a steamer. For 
. about seven thousand feet we 

Ebel run snow-covinen storx oF pemayinn © Went sizzling along in this way. 
Finally the snow grew so thin, 

that we preferred making our way through the rocks on foot. Just 
as the sun was setting, the clouds lifted. We reached the cave at night- 


76 oy MME LAD Bigs AOSD SRSIN EC Tne 


fall. Jafar and some shepherds were waiting there with my horse, 
and in a few minutes I was sleeping like a rock. 

A few days later, I was sent for by the Shah. He was seated in his 
large, red tent, surrounded by several of his court. Some of them 
doubted that I had really reached the top. But when the Shah saw my 
sketches, he turned to them and said: “‘Refte, refte, bala bood” (He 
has walked, he has been up there). The courtiers bowed down to 
the rug, and all their doubts vanished like the clouds around Demavend. 
We remained in the refreshing mountains for some time, and then 
returned to the capital with the Shah and his court. 

My last recollection of Teheran is a bloody one. Kurban bairam, 
or the sacrificial offering, was being celebrated in the town. A camel, 
with silver bridle, tall plume, and costly, embroidered cloths, was led 
to an open place, where thousands of people were assembled. A band 
played, horsemen on frisky mounts rode about, and ferrashs with long 
switches tried to keep the crowd in check. 

The sacrificial camel was made to lie down in the midst of the crowd. 
A bunch of grass was held before him, and he ate, the while his trappings 
were removed. ‘Ten butchers, in aprons, and with rolled-up sleeves, 
appeared. One of them, a big, heavy-built man, stuck his knife into 
the camel’s breast with a powerful movement. ‘The beast gave a jerk 
and fell on its side, its head sinking to the ground. At the same moment, 
another butcher appeared, and with two cuts severed the head from the 
body. The camel was then skinned and cut up, and as many of the 
crowd as could get to it fell like hungry wolves upon the gory cadaver. 
As soon as one succeeded in tearing off a small piece of meat for himself, 
he withdrew, to make place for another. Within a few minutes there 
was nothing but a red spot to show where the camel had lain. But the 
proper sacrifice had been made to the high powers which forge the 
destiny of man. 


CHAPTER X 
Through Khorasan, the Land of the Sun 


N September 9, 1890, I started off on the long caravan-road, 
marked by twenty-four stations, which connects Teheran with 
Meshhed, the capital of Khorasan, the Land of the Sun, and 
the chief shrine of pilgrims of Persia proper. 

As long ago as the time of Xerxes and Darius, a postal system was 
operated along this road; and in the days of Tamerlane, whose couriers 
traversed the road with messages, the stations were about the same as 
now. 

The soil reeks with memories of the past. There Alexander the 
Great overtook the fleeing Darius III, Codomanus; there Harun-ar- 
Rashid and his hordes sallied forth; there the wild Mongolian tribes 
pillaged and murdered; there the waste reverberated with Nadir Shah’s 
clatter of arms; and there hundreds of thousands of tired pilgrims have 
bent their steps toward the grave of Imam Riza, at Meshhed. 

Two days before starting, I bade farewell to the aged Shah Nasr- 
ed-Din. He was walking alone on a path in the garden of Sultanetabad, 
leaning on a gold-headed cane. He wished me a happy journey, and 
continued his lonely walk. His great-great-grandson is now on the 
throne of Persia. He himself reigned for forty-eight years. But in 
the twenty-nine years following his death, the throne has been occupied 
by four generations! 

I was setting out on a journey of 3,600 miles, to be made on horse- 
back, by sleigh, carriage, and train. I travelled as cheaply as possible, 
and the expenses totalled only $1,011. 

I had three horses: one for riding, one to bear my luggage, and one 
for the stable-boy who accompanied me. As on the journey to the 
Persian Gulf, stable-boy and horses were changed at every station. 

We rode out of Teheran through the Khorasan gate, which has 
four small towers, in yellow, blue, and white faience. In return for a 

77 


78 MY LDIPE AS “AN: GER ICOUR aR 


coin, the keeper of the gate called out to us a kind “Siaret mubarek,”’ 
or “A happy pilgrimage!” 

On the right, the cupola over the grave of Shah Abdul Azim shone 
like a golden ball; and, at the foot of its knoll, the Tower of Silence 
appeared. On the left, Demavend, enthroned in light clouds, was about 
to be shrouded in its white, winter garb. ‘The black tents of the nomads 
lay scattered on the steppe. At dusk, we reached the village of Kubed 
Gumbed, where we spent the evening among dogs and cats. 

The mounted mail-carrier was expected momentarily; and as he 


ACS, 
LL Me Ve 


THE MONGOLS PLUNDERING AND BURNING KHORASAN 


would have the first choice of fresh horses, we continued on our way 
at midnight. We changed from a trot to a gallop, and again to a walk, 
so as not to tire the horses. The air was mild, Orion reigned, and 
the moon was up. In the distance, dull caravan-bells sounded; and soon 
the camels glanced by like shadows. 

We rode most of the following day. Sometimes we stopped at a 
kavekhaneh, or coffee-house, on the roadside; sometimes with a resting 


THROUGH KHORASAN 79 


caravan, or at a nomad-tent, where copper-brown children played with 
dogs and lambs. Once I fell asleep, but was waked by a sonorous “La 
illaha il Allah!” as the sun disappeared. At five o’clock in the afternoon, 
the heat was still up at 93°. 

In the village of Deh-i-Namak, we were overtaken by the first mail- 
rider. He was a decent sort of chap, and suggested that we join him. 
So we rode out in the night, five horses strong. The road was marked 
by many parallel tracks, worn through thousands of years by camels’ 
pads, horses’ hoofs, and human feet. 

Thus we proceeded from village to village, via Semnan, to Gusheh. 
Once we met twenty-four dervishes, in white-and-green turbans. ‘They 
were returning from Meshhed to their home in Shuster. Another time, 
we met some white-bearded pilgrims, whose weakness obliged them to 
travel on their camels in litters (palekeh). 

In Gusheh there were but two houses: the caravansary and the 
station. From the station-roof, toward the south and southeast, Kevir, 
the “Salt Desert,” could be seen, resembling a frozen sea. I devoted 
a day to riding to its shore, and out on its dazzling-white surface. After 
a ride of thirty-one miles, I reached a spot where the salt surface was 
nine centimetres thick. toward the south, the white surface extended 
to the horizon. Sixteen years later, I crossed this terrible desert by 
two different routes. 

Once again on the caravan-road, we soon beheld, from a hill, the 
city of Damghan, with its gardens, a place which was devastated by 
the Mongolians, and where one may now find a beautiful mosque, with 
high minarets, and an older mosque, much dilapidated, but having pic- 
turesque archways and cloisters. 

Here I decided to make a side-trip to Asterabad, a city sixty miles 
further north. In order to get there, I had to cross the Elburz Moun- 
tains and the forests on its slopes. I hired a charvadar, or caravan- 
driver, and two horses, and set out. 

The second day’s journey took me to a poor little village, Chardeh, 
surrounded by naked hills. My charvadar did not take me to the village 
itself, which was known for its poisonous vermin, but to a garden a 
few hundred yards away. This garden was surrounded by a five-foot- 
high clay wall, without doors; so we had to climb it to get in. The 
charvadar spread my rug on the ground under an apple-tree, arranged 
my blanket, ulster, and pillow into a bed, placed the two leather boxes 


80 MY tL URE CAS VA Nowe T Om ER 


at the side, and went off with the two horses to the village, to buy eggs, 
poultry, apples, and bread. After a while, he returned with two other 
men, and we prepared our supper. What was left over was placed on 
the boxes next to my bed, whereupon the three men went back to the 
village. 

As long as there was daylight, I sat on the bed, writing. Not a 
living creature was to be seen. Now and then I heard a dog bark far 
away. When darkness fell, I lay down and went to sleep. 

Sometime during the night, a rattling sound from the boxes woke 
me, and I sat up and listened. All was still, and I fell asleep again. 
But before long I awoke once more, and again heard the scratching on 
the leather. I started up, and, by the light of the stars, distinguished 
faintly half a dozen jackals, who, taking alarm, slunk into the shadow 
of the wall. I was wide awake now, and on a sharp lookout. I saw 
them slink by like shadows, and heard their pattering steps behind me. 
Their number was increased by new arrivals from the waste and the 
steppe. 

I knew that jackals, as a rule, were harmless animals; but I was 
alone, and one never could tell. To pass the time, I thought of going 
on with the supper. But the boxes had been swept clean: the jackals 
had taken everything except the apples. As they grew bolder and 
approached the bed, I took an apple and hurled it with all my force 
straight into the pack. A whining, plaintive sound indicated that one 
of the nocturnal robbers had been hit. They returned, however, and 
their boldness increased. Seizing a riding-whip, I tried to frighten them 
by beating heavily on the leather boxes. ‘The hours passed slowly. I 
might certainly have lain down again; but one does not sleep peacefully 
with a lot of jackals pattering round and stepping on one’s face. 

Dawn came at last, and the roosters of Chardeh began to crow. 
The jackals leaped the wall and did not return; and so I was able to 
rest till the charvadar waked me. At our next camping-place I was 
regaled with several jackal-anecdotes. Not long before, a man was on 
his way from one village to another, on muleback. He was pursued by 
ten jackals, and had great difficulty in keeping them off. Tales were 
also told of people who had been killed by hungry jackals. 

We rode on through juniper-woods and slept at open fires. We 
passed through dense forests of oak, plane, and olive trees. The road 
followed steep precipices. The valleys to the north were filled with 


THROUGH KHORASAN 81 


white mist. We passed through districts inhabited by the once powerful 
Yomud Turkomans, and eventually reached Asterabad, entering by the 
gate named after the province of Masenderan. 

I remained, here as the guest of the Russian consul for a few days. 
On the Shah’s birthday, we were invited to the Governor’s. I shall 
never forget that festival. It was celebrated at night, with spectacular 
fireworks. Horsemen, on paper horses, entered the lists in a tournament, 
carrying wooden lances dipped in tar. A noisy band, composed of 
copper cymbals, flutes, kettledrums, and drums, furnished the music. 
Boys, disguised as women, danced; and, notwithstanding the prohibition 
of the Koran, considerable quantities of wine were drunk. 

We proceeded onward, through luxuriant woods and along dangerous 
precipices, following a road further east, and rejoined the main caravan- 
route at the cities of Bostan and Sharud. In Bostan, we found several 
old buildings, covered with sea-green faience, a mosque named after 
Sultan Bayasid, and two minarets, known as the Trembling Towers. 

Then we went on eastwards, over slightly undulating wastes and 
steppes, hemmed in on the left by the mountain-ranges which form the 
boundary of the country of the Turkomans to the north. As recently 
as fifty years ago, the name ‘““Turkoman”’ aroused the greatest terror 
among the inhabitants of this region. ‘The Turkomans organized 
marauding-expeditions into Persian territory, and returned with rich 
spoils, comprising goods, cattle, and slaves. The slave-trade flourished. 
When Muravieff was Russian Ambassador at Khiva, in 1820, there were 
thirty thousand slaves there, Persians and Russians. Christians who 
rejected Islam were buried alive, or were nailed by the ear to a wall, 
where they were left to starve. Skobeleff freed twenty-five thousand 
slaves, when he took Geok-Tepe, in 1881. 

Roadside towers, forty and fifty feet high, locally known as burj, 
appeared in ever-increasing numbers. These towers were once occupied 
by Persian lookouts, who watched the north and the east, warning the 
inhabitants of adjacent villages to flee and hide in time. This district 
was called Ja-i-kuf, or the Tract of Terror, because of the predatory 
exploits of the Goklan Turkomans. 

The Miandasht caravansary, situated in the midst of the desert, is 
doubtless one of the largest in all Islam. It is a halting-place for 
caravans from east and west; and pilgrims rest here for a day or two. 
Women, crying children, deryishes, soldiers, and merchants crowd 


82 MY “LUBE AS AN, EAR EO RE R 


together in a mass of vibrant colour. Some of them are to be heard 
disputing about advantageous positions, others fetch water from the 
wells in the court, and still others are to be seen buying fruit from 
vendors in little booths. One 
caravan was getting ready to de- 
part, while the camels of an- 
other were being relieved of 
their burdens. I saw a fine lady 
enter the caravansary, seated in 
a takhterevan (a sort of sedan- 
chair, but borne by two mules) 
and accompanied by pedestrians 
and riders. 

Eastward of this place, the 
country took on the appearance 
of a desert. We rode past a 
) dying camel, which had been 

AAC Mp Ee OCT abandoned by its owner; and we 

met four dervishes, carrying 

their shoes on their shoulders, so as not to wear them out. A flock of 
ravens preceded us for a long 
time, like an advance guard. In 
the upper room of the shelter 
where I spent the night, dancing 
clouds of dust came whirling in. 

We reached Sabzevar next, © 
the City of Vegetables, with fif- 
teen thousand inhabitants, two 
big and several small mosques, 
and a bazaar under a raftered | 
roof, amply stocked with mis- 
cellaneous goods. An ark, or - 
fort, is also to be seen; but it is 
only a relic, now that the pil- 
laging-expeditions of the Tur- 
komans have ceased. And then 
there are the opium-dens, which, 
for very shame, are kept hidden 


A MONEY-CHANGER IN THE BAZAAR QF SABZEVAR 


THROUGH KHORASAN 83 


underground. Accompanied by an Armenian, I entered one of them. 
Two men were smoking, stretched out on rugs spread on the earthen 
floor. The opium-pipe consists of a long tube and a clay ball with a 
small hole. An opium-pill as big as a large pea is deposited in the hole, 
the pipe is held over a flame, and the smoker inhales the poisonous 
smoke. Pill after pill is inserted, and gradually the smoker passes into 
a world of bright dreams. Four smokers, already insensible, lay in the 
darkness along the walls. I took a few puffs, and can compare the 
smoke only to that of burnt horn. 


OPIUM-SMOKERS IN SABZEVAR 


On the way to Nishapur, we passed a trading-caravan of two hundred 
and thirty-seven camels; also a company of pilgrims, the women, of 
whom there were ten, travelling in kajeveh (bearing-baskets). The men 
slept on their mules. A priest was conducting this group of pilgrims 
to the grave of Imam Riza, relating sacred legends on the way. 

The next city we passed through was Nishapur, which is famous 
throughout the Orient for its turquoises, the finest in the world. The 


mountains of Binalud, north of the city, contain silver, gold, copper, 
pewter, lead, and malachite. 


84 MY LIFE AS AN EXPLORER 


Nishapur has been destroyed and rebuilt several times during 
the past centuries, Alexander the Great being numbered among the 
destroyers. 

A few days more, and we reached Tepe-i-salam, the Hill of Greeting, 
where, for ages, innumerable pilgrims have knelt in prayer, upon seeing 
Meshhed, the Place of Martyrdom; for, from this hill, the Holy City 
can be seen. Every pilgrim lays a stone on one of the many thousand 
cairns and pyramids that tower on the height, as simple ceremonial- 
tributes of their piety. , 


if” : 


Nadas ' 
a 
" Baye’ nh 


a) ny , Herre JA 
:\ waite ACCA 
i] Joe, #2 


“ean ) 
KHORASAN 4 
JS eS ert : 


ROUTE FROM TEHERAN TO KAAHKA 


CHVARP TD Ba Re xl 
Meshhed, the City of Martyrs 


HREE famous men are buried in Meshhed. In 809, the Caliph 
Harun-ar-Rashid, of Arabian Nights fame, died on his way 
to this city, whither he was going‘to suppress a revolt. 

Nine years later, the eighth /mam, Imam Riza, was buried 
in Meshhed. The Persian Mohammedans, called Shiahs, regard Ali and 
eleven of his successors as Imams. Ali and his sons, Hussein and Has- 
san, were the first ones; Imam Riza was the eighth; and El-Mahdi, the 
Mystic, was the twelfth, the one who expected to re-establish the King- 
dom of God on earth, at the Day of Judgment. 

The third grave is that of Nadir Shah. He was a Tatar robber, 
who ravaged Khorasan, became mighty and powerful, offered Shah 
Thamas II his support, reconquered for him all the provinces taken by 
the Turks, expanded the borders of Persia in all directions, dethroned 
the Shah and had him assassinated, drowned Delhi in blood (1738), 
blinded his son, built pyramids of human heads on the mosque-roofs, 
and stamped on his coins, ‘“‘O coin, announce to all the earth the reign 
of Nadir, the king who conquers the world.” In the spring of 1747, 
he lay with his army outside Meshhed. Indignant at his Persian soldiers 
and officers, he ordered them to be stabbed at a given signal. The plan 
proved abortive. The Turkish, Uzbeg, Turkoman, and Tatar soldiers 
were discovered sharpening their knives and swords. ‘Thus there was 
no recourse but to murder Nadir. Sale Bek, a colonel of the guards, 
stole into his tent at night, and cut his head oft. The body was buried 
in a mausoleum; but Aga Mohammed Khan, founder of the present 
royal house (the Kajars), on attaining power, in 1794, opened the grave 
of the conqueror, and let the body be devoured by dogs. It is said that 
the remains of Nadir Shah now rest beneath a hillock, in a court shaded 
by four mulberry trees. 

The holy place almost forms a little town by itself, in the heart of 
Meshhed. But the most beautiful objects in the city are the eighty-foot- 
85 


86 MOY SBR AS ASIN Wen ne 


high gilded cupola over the grave itself, the faience-covered facades 
and minarets, and the courts, with their alcoves for three thousand pil- 
grims, their basins, and their pigeons. A mosque, with a blue cupola 
and two minarets, was built by the favourite wife of Tamerlane. ‘Trea- 
sures of incalculable value are kept in these sacred edifices. At the time 
of my visit, it was said that a hundred thousand pilgrims flocked to 
Meshhed every year, and that ten thousand dead bodies were taken to 
be buried near the Imam, so that he might lead them by the hand to 
Paradise on Resurrection-Day. ‘The jackals prowl about the cemetery, 
and at night they even come into the town and enter its gardens. Three- 
fifths of the estimated population of eighty thousand was said to consist 
of priests, dervishes, and pilgrims. Near the grave, food was given to 
the poor, sight was restored to the blind, and the paralyzed recovered 
the use of their limbs. 3 

All streets leading to the sacred area are shut off with chains. Within 
its bounds all malefactors are safe, and many confessed murderers and 
bandits take advantage of this asylum. - ! 

From Nagara-khaneh, or the Drum Tower, a curious orchestra 
plays every morning, to greet the sun at his rising, and every evening, 
to bid farewell when he sinks in the west, far beyond Khorasan. 


CHAP PER’ XLT 
Bokhara and Samarkand 


I left Meshhed with a charvadar and three horses, and went 

through the narrow corridors, defiles, and passes of the Hesar- 

mestjid Mountains, and past the strong, natural fortress of Kelat- 
i-Nadir, on my way northward to the Transcaspian Railway, which I 
reached at the station of Kaahka. 

At Askabad, the capital of Transcaspia, I made the acquaintance 
of the military governor, General Kuropatkin. He had fought at 
Plevna, during the Russo-Turkish War, and had taken part in the con- 
quest of Transcaspia. In the war against Japan, he was commander- 
in-chief of the Russian armies. [I met him several times later, at Samar- 
kand, Tashkent, and St. Petersburg; and I remember his name with 
gratitude, for he was one of the men who made travelling easier for me. 

I made excursions around Askabad. I observed that the Turkomans 
had already partly progressed from nomad life to agriculture, near 
villages which had been settled by them. I visited the beautiful mosque 
at Anau, famous for the yellow Chinese dragons interwoven in the 
design of its faience-covered facade. Here I got my first sight of Kara- 
kum, the Black Sands desert, which lies between the Caspian Sea and 
Amu-daria, and between Khorasan and the Aral Sea, and where roamed 
the wild ass, the boar, the tiger, and the jackal. Parts of Turkestan 
had already been conquered: Khiva and the entire eastern shore of the 
Caspian Sea were under the Czar’s sceptre. ‘The country lying between 
—the desert of Kara-kum, in whose oases the herds of the Tekke- 
Turkomans grazed—still remained to be conquered. 

In the beginning, the Russians met with reverses, losing seventeen 
thousand of their eighteen thousand camels in one campaign. The arro- 
gance of the Turkomans increased. A blow had to be dealt them which 
they would never forget. So Skobeleff inaugurated a campaign which 
became one of the most cruel in the history of Asiatic warfare, and 

87 . 


i was the middle of October, and autumn was approaching, when 


88 MY wii BR? AS) AON BOR Pe ria hh 


which resulted in keeping the Turkomans crushed up to the days of Lenin. 
With seven thousand men, and seventy guns, Skobeleff marched into 
the desert, in December, 1880, while General Annenkoff, with surprising 
rapidity, laid among he shifting sand-dunes the string of rails which 
served as a supply-line for the 
operating corps. The Turko- 
mans called Annenkoff the 
‘‘“Samovar Pasha,” and the loco- 
motives the “carts of the Devil.” 
A great number of the Akhal- 
Tekke-Turkomans, forty-five 

- thousand people, of whom ten 
thousand were armed horsemen, 
embattled themselves, with 
women and children. in the fort 
of Geok-tepe (the Green Hill), 
surrounded by high, clay walls. 
Makdum Kuli Khan was their 
leader. They had rifles, side- 
arms, and a cannon, from which 
they shot stone balls. 

In January, 1881, the Rus- 
sians moved their entrenchments 
forward, close to the fort, and 
were planting a mine that was 
to make a breach in the wall. 
The Turkomans, hearing the un- 
derground boring, believed that 

a hole would open in the wall, through which the Russians would crawl 
one by one. They therefore kept themselves in readiness, with drawn 
sabres, till the fatal day, when a ton of powder exploded, and did great 
execution. 

The Russian army rushed into the breach in three columns, two of 
which were commanded by Kuropatkin and Skobelefi. Skobeleff rode 
a white horse, wore a white uniform, and was perfumed and frizzed 
like a bridegroom, while the regimental band played a march. Twenty 
thousand Turkomans were killed. Five thousand women and children, 
together with the Persian slaves, were spared. ‘The Russians lost four 


A TURKOMAN 


BOKHARA AND SAMARKAND 89 


officers and fifty-five men. For many years thereafter, the Turkomans 
would weep whenever they heard the sound of Russian military music; 
for there was not a Turkoman in the country who had not lost a relative 
at Geok-tepe. 

It took only a few years for the Russians to conquer the country as 
far as a day’s journey from Herat. The danger to India, together with 
the rapid advance of the Russians into Central Asia, gave rise to the 
justifiable fears of the English. 

In 1888, the railway to Samarkand, 870 miles long, was opened; 
and about the end of October, I travelled by that line to the oasis of 
Merv, which, in the Avesta, is called Moru and by Darius Hystaspes, 
one of whose satraps was established there, Marga. 

Merv is situated on the boundary between Turan and Iran. It 
passed from one ruler to another during thousands of years. In the 
fifth century A.D., a Nestorian archbishop lived in Merv. In 651, 
Yezdegird III, the last Sassanian king, came fleeing with four thousand 
men, and bearing the sacred fire from Rages. The Tatars stormed 
the town. Alone, and on foot, the King fled, seeking refuge with a 
miller, who agreed to hide him, provided the King paid the miller’s 
debts. Yezdegird handed him his sword and its precious scabbard. 
During the night, the miller, tempted by the King’s brilliant attire, 
murdered him. But the Tatars were driven away, and the miller was 
torn to pieces. 

Jakut, the learned Arab, studied in the library of Merv, and wrote 
in praise of the fresh water, juicy melons, and soft cotton of the oasis. 
In 1221, the district was devastated by Tulai, son of Jenghiz Khan; 
and in 1380, the oasis was taken by Tamerlane. The Merv Turkomans 
were dreaded. At Khiva and Bokhara, it was said of them: “If you 
meet a viper and a Mervi, kill the Mervi first and then the viper!” 

When I was in Merv, a market was held in the oasis every Sunday. 
Products of native industry, particularly the beautiful rugs, of ox-blood 
colour, with rows of white figures, were on safe, in canvas booths and 
in the open. A charming sight was presented by the throngs and the 
commotion—men in high, fur caps, Bactrian camels, the famous Turko- 
man horses, with clumsy heads and slender necks, horsemen, caravans, 
and carts. And no less charming were the ruins and cupolas of old 
Merv (Bairam Ali). 

From Mery, the railway winds between the shifting dunes. Saxauls, 


90 MOY: absTBeB ASS CAINE gC rie be 


tamarisks, and other desert plants are grown on top of these dunes, to 
counteract their tendency to bury the rails with their shifting sands. 
Over a wooden bridge, two versts long, the train crosses the great Amu- 
daria, which measures 1,450 miles from its source, in Pamir, to its 
mouth in the Aral Sea. 

The next important centre of West Asiatic culture and history which 
we encountered, was Bokhara-i-Sherif, the Noble Bokhara, one of the 
jewels among the cities of the earth—an Asiatic Rome. 

Greek, Arabian, and Mongolian armies have passed like devastating 
avalanches over this region. It is the Sogdiana of the Greeks, and the 


—_— > 


SC ») ree ri) in a 


eal wae 


MOLLAHS=-OLD WISE PRIESTS 


Transoxiana of the Romans. In the eleventh century, Bokhara was the 
centre of Islam, as regards classical learning. A proverb tells us: “In 
all other parts of the world, light descends upon the earth from above; 
but in Bokhara it comes from below, and rises.”” And Hafiz’s impression 
of it, and of Samarkand, its sister city, is reflected in his verses, of which 
one runs thus: 


Agger on turchi shirafi bedast dared dill i ma ra 
Be halu hinduiesh bakshem Samarkand ve Bokhara ra. 


The beauty in Shiraf who holds my heart in her hand— 
For the birth-mark on her cheek I would give Samarkand 
and Bokhara. 


BOKHARA AND SAMARKAND 91 


There were one hundred and five madrasahs, or religious training- 
schools, and three hundred and sixty-five mosques, which enabled the 
faithful to perform their devotions in a different mosque each day in 
the year. 

This city, too, was sacked by Jenghiz Khan and taken by Tamer- 
lane. In 1842, Colonel Stoddart and Captain Connolly visited Bok- 
hara. ‘The cruel Nasr-ullah was then Emir. He arrested the two 
Englishmen, tortured them, threw them into the famous vermin-pit, and 
beheaded them. Vambéry, dis- 
guised as a dervish, managed to 
get to the city in 1863, and de- 
scribed its remarkable features. 

The population is composed 
of several diverse elements. The 
most important are the Tajiks, 
of Iranian stock, to which the 
educated classes and the priests 
belong; the Uzbegs and Jaggatai 
Turks, of the Mongolian race; 
and the Sarts, a mixed race, to 
which the populace and the per- 
manent population in general be- 
long. Many other Oriental 
peoples are represented, among 
them being Persians, Afghans, 
Kirghiz, Turks, Tatars, Cauca- 
sians, and Jews. 

In the archways of the ba- 
zaars, where twilight always 
reigns, the bustling life of the 
Orient has a motley of its own. 
There one may admire the mar- 
vels of the Bokharan textile art; 
and in the antique-shops one runs across Greek and Sassanian silver and 
gold coins, and other rarities. Cotton, sheep-wool, lambskins, and raw 
silk are exported in great quantities; and in the caravansary courts, 
connected with the bazaars, bales are piled mountain-high. There are 
nice restaurants and coffee-houses; and from a distance one detects 


AN OLD TAJIK OF BOKHARA 


a 


92 MY. ODD R-E AS) AON OR ASPs Ra 


the odour of pastry made with onions and spices, and of coffee and 
tea. A small tart costs one pool (64 pool== 20 copeck=1 tenge; 
20 tenge — I tillah = 4 roubles). 

I never tired of walking in the beautiful, narrow streets, between 
funny, two-story houses, with camel-caravans jostling their way among 
carts, horsemen, and pedestrians. I stopped frequently to sketch a 
mosque or a tempting street-scene. A noisy crowd would gather round 
me, and Said Murad, one of the servants of the Russian legation, would 


A STORY-TELLER IN BOKHARA 


keep bold urchins at a distance, by using his braided knout. Once I - 
went for a stroll without him, and then the lads took their revenge, 
bombarding me systematically, which rendered drawing out of the ques- 
tion. ‘They rushed at me from all sides, their missiles being rotten 
apples, lumps of earth, and all sorts of refuse. After vainly trying to 
defend myself, I hastily retreated to the Legation and fetched Said 
Murad. | 

In 1219, Jenghiz Khan entered the door of Mestjid-i-Kalan, the 
Great Mosque, and ordered a general massacre. Not quite two hundred 
years later, Tamerlane restored the temple. 

Not more than thirty-five years ago, criminals were still hurled from 
the top of a minaret, one hundred and sixty-five feet high, the judge 
having previously announced their crime from the same place, in a 
resounding voice. A couple of storks now had their nest there, and 


BOKHARA AND SAMARKAND 93 


nobody was allowed on the top, because the nearby harem courts were 
visible therefrom. 

Opposite the Great Mosque is Mir-Arab, a madrasah more famous 
than all others in Central Asia. It has circular towers, two cupolas of 
brilliant, green faience, and a house with four portals and one hundred 
and fourteen rooms for two hundred mollahs, or priests. 

Yet the pearl among the cities of Central Asia is Samarkand, where 
I took up my abode on the first of November. When Alexander the 
Great conquered these countries, the capital of Sogdiana was called 
Maracanda. Even at the present day, the Macedonian name survives 
in the form of Iskander Bek. Though Samarkand was defended against 
Jenghiz Khan by a hundred and ten thousand men capable of bearing 
arms, it had to surrender and was completely razed. 

The name of a third conqueror is associated with Samarkand even 
more closely than those just mentioned. ‘Tamerlane was born in 1335, 
in a Tatar tribe. A refugee from Khiva, he met saga-like adventures 
in the desert of Kara-kum. He was wounded in Sistan and became 
lame. Therefore he was named Timur Lenk or Timur Lane, a name 
later corrupted into Tamerlane. In 1369, he was safely seated on his 
throne in Samarkand. Afterwards, the great conquests began. Persia 
was taken. At Shiraz he met Hafiz, as mentioned before. Between 
campaigns, Tamerlane erected incomparably magnificent edifices in 
Samarkand, which made this city unique in its kind. Even at this day, 
the shining, green cupolas rise from the verdure of the gardens; and 
minarets and cupolas,. of the deep, pure-blue colour of a turquoise, stand 
out against the lighter blue of the sky. 

In 1398, Tamerlane marched across the Hindu kush, defeated King 
Mahmud of Hindustan, and pillaged Delhi, carrying incalculable loot 
home to Samarkand on stolen elephants. Bagdad, Aleppo, and Damas- 
cus were taken; and, in 1402, he defeated Sultan Bajazet at Angora. 
According to a legend, of small reliability, the lame conqueror put his 
one-eyed prisoner, the Sultan, in an iron cage, in order to exhibit him 
later in the cities of Asia. As Tamerlane returned to Samarkand by 
the way I have described, from Teheran to Meshhed, he was followed 
closely by Ruy Gonzales de Clavijo, ambassador of King Henry III of 
Castile and Leon, who wrote a capital account of his journey. 

In January, 1405, Tamerlane set out from Samarkand on his last 
campaign. He wanted to defeat Yong Loh, the greatest emperor of 


94 Moye ah RR As AINE CSE SOO rae 


the Ming dynasty. But he died in Otrar, on the other side of the Sir- 
daria (Jaxartes), sixty-nine years of age. His body was taken back 
to Samarkand, where one of the most beautiful mausoleums in the world 
was built, according to his own design. EEmbalmed in musk and rose- 
water, and wrapped in linen, the body was laid in an ivory coffin. In 
the burial-vault, beneath the cupola, the place was marked by a solid 
piece of jade, six feet long, one and one-half feet thick, and one and one- 
half feet wide, this being the largest piece of jade known. On one of 


THE TOMB OF TAMERLANE 


the walls, the following words appear, written in relief, in Arabic, in 
alabaster: ‘‘Were I still alive, mankind would tremble.”’ 

At the beginning of the Mohammedan era, one of the descendants 
of the Prophet, Kasim Ibn Abbas, came to Samarkand to preach Islam. 
Being seized and beheaded by the ungrateful people, he put his head 
under his arm and disappeared in a subterranean cave. It was on the 
top of this cave that Tamerlane later built his. splendid summer-palace, 
the graceful lines of whose seven blue-green cupolas still rise above the 
yellow ground. The conqueror held his drinking-bouts there, and the 
biggest drinker was declared bahadur, or knight. ‘There is an opening 
through which one may look into a subterranean cave for this man 
walking around with his own head under his arm. He is called ‘‘Shah- 


BOKHARA AND SAMARKAND 95 


i-sindeh,” or the Living King, a name which the palace itself still bears. 
When the Russians advanced, step by step, into Asia, it was prophesied 
that when they reached Samarkand, Shah-i-sindeh would emerge from 
his cave, and, with his head held high, would liberate Tamerlane’s city. 
But he failed to appear, when Kauffmann conquered Samarkand; and he 
thus lost much of his prestige among the Mohammedans. 

Mirza Ullug Bek, Tillah Karch, and Madrasah-i-Shirdar are three 
religious colleges, built, after the era of Tamerlane, around Rigistan, 
the most beautiful open place in the world. The colleges are resplendent 
with the most glorious designs in faience, and their cupolas and minarets 
have been splendidly pictured, in oils, by the Russian painter Veres- 
tchagin. 

Outside the city, I visited the mosque in which Bibi-Khanum, Tamer- 
lane’s favourite wife, daughter of the Emperor of China, is buried.. It 
dates from the year 1385, and is magnificent even in its dilapidated 
state. 

In the company of a Frenchman, I also took a nocturnal walk to 
Pai-Kabak, the not-too-savoury quarter of the women dancers. We 
were ushered into perfumed rooms, carpeted with rugs, and with divans 
along the walls. Beautiful women played the sitara (zither) and chetara 
(guitar), manipulating the strings with dainty little fingers. Others, 
with like skill and grace, played the tambourine. In order to keep the 
drumhead tight, they would now and again hold the instrument over a 
mangal, or glowing brazier. 

As the music rose in the night, the dancers appeared, in light, floating 
garments, with movements full of grace. Some of them were Persians 
or Afghans, others had Tatar blood in their veins. And to the rhythmic 
sounds of music from the stringed instruments, they danced in undulating 
_ measure, like fairies in a dream—messengers from Bihasht and the joys 
of Paradise. 


CHAPTER XIII 
Into the Heart of Asia 


HE bells jingled on the arch of the duga as I drove away from 
Samarkand, while the blue cupolas disappeared in the distance, 
and the rising sun gave life and colour to the hills of Afrasiab. 

I drove in a troika through a wealth of gardens, shimmer- 
ing in the yellow-and-red autumn. I crossed the Zerafshan—the Gold 
Roller—the river which irrigates Samarkand and the nearby oases. I 
drove through the narrow, rocky pass called ‘“Tamerlane’s Gateway,” 
and through ‘“‘Golodnaya,” or the Hunger Steppe, which is a corner of 
the desert of Kizil-kum, or the Red Sand, between the Oxus and 
Jaxartes, the giant rivers of Russian Turkestan. 

We were taken across the last-mentioned river (whose Turkish 
name is Sir-daria) on a huge ferry, which carried ten camels and twelve 
carts with their horses, besides us. After further changes of horses, 
we reached Tashkent, the capital of Russian Central Asia. 

Once upon a time, Jagatai Khan, son of Jenghiz Khan, reigned here; 
and in 1865, General Cherniaieff brought the city under Russian rule. 
The city then numbered one hundred and twenty thousand inhabitants. 
Cherniaieff captured it with only two thousand men. On the evening 
of the surrender, Cherniaieff, accompanied by two Cossacks, rode 
through the streets, went to bathe in a Sart hammam, and dined in the 
bazaar. ‘This boldness made a great impression on the inhabitants. 

- Baron von Wrewski, the Governor General, resided in Tashkent 
at the time of my arrival; and his house became my. home during the 
period of my stay. He provided me with maps, a passport, and letters 
of introduction, and overwhelmed me with kindness and hospitality. 
He had been one of the Russian ambassadors at the coronation of my 
King, in Stockholm, in 1873. 

We continued our journey in fresh vehicles, crossing the Sir-daria 
again to Khojent, going on into the fertile valley of Ferghana, to 
Khokand, where we visited the palace of Khodier Khan (the last Khan) 

96 | 


% JIL PKS gph 


Bee 
is 


THE BLUE CITY OF TAMERLANE 


SAMARKAND, 


ch hey 


ON EO eA EER ACR DD Orn A SPA 97 


and the hovels of the singing-dervishes, and thence to Margelan, a city 
that can coolly point out Gur-i-Iskander-Bek—the grave of Alexander 
the Great—to strangers. 

In bright moonlight, we went tinkling along to Osh. Colonel 
Deubner was at that time head of the district. I had decided to go as 
far as Kashgar, the most westerly city of China, on the further side 
of the mountain-ranges that link the Tian-shan with Pamir. Their 
highest pass is crossed by the caravan-road running between Osh, in 
Russian Turkestan, and Kashgar, in Chinese Turkestan, and is named 
Terek-davan, or the Poplar Pass. Its altitude is 13,000 feet. 

Colonel Deubner told me that the last caravans had already left, 
that the snowstorm season was due, and that only those hardy Kirghiz 
who knew the road ever ventured over the pass. This was not sufficient 
to deter me; so the Colonel did everything in his power to expedite my 
journey. I bought provisions, a fur coat, and felt rugs; hired four 
horses, for each of which I had to pay sixty copecks a day; and employed 
three servants, Kerim Jan, the jigit or postilion, Ata Bai, the groom, 
and Ashur, the cook. 

Heavily clothed, and in valenki, or soft, felt boots, we set forth on 
the first of December. The snow was falling thickly; and between the 
mountains, the landscape, white as chalk, revealed the kibitkas, or big, 
arched blanket-tents of the Kirghiz, looking like black dots. Our longest 
day’s march was that to Sufi-kurgan, a record one of forty-two miles. 
Here, as at all our other camps, we lodged in the tents of the Kirghiz, - 
and ate, rested, and slept around their cheerful fires. At Suft-kurgan, 
there was an aul, a village of fifty tents. Khoat Bi, the old chief, received 
us amiably; and at his camp-fire, Ashur made a soup, called besh barmak 
(the five fingers), because it is thick enough to be eaten with the hand. 
It consisted of mutton, cabbage, carrots, potatoes, rice, onions, pepper, 
and salt, all boiled in water. 

On December 5, we departed towards Terek-davan, in fairly cold 
weather (6°). My men wore leather trousers, roomy enough to cover 
their entire clothing, including their fur coats. They extended, in fact, 
as high as the armpits. 

The road crossed ice-bound brooks over small, frail, wooden bridges. 
Birch trees and junipers grew on the slopes of the valley through which 
we passed. We came to a passage, hardly twenty feet wide, between 


98 MY LIFE AS AN EXPLORER 


sheer mountain-walls, which was known as Darvase (The Gate). The 
steep road made zigzags through the snow. The day was almost gone 
when we reached the top of the pass, a sharply-defined ridge. ‘The bones 
of human beings and of horses, mute symbols of fatal snowstorms, lay 
hidden under the snow. 

To the east and south, a magnificent landscape unfolded, a labyrinth 
of wild mountain-ranges. ‘The brooks which flowed eastward, during 
the warm season, ended at Lop-nor; those flowing westward emptied 
into the Aral Sea. 

Descending, we frightened a herd of kiyiks (wild goats), who, with 
sure, elegant movements, auPP raed over a declivity. On we went, 
, from tent to tent, down through the 
valleys, by way of the Russian border 
fort of Irkeshtam, and the Kizil-zu 
River, to the woodland region of Na- 
gara-Chaldi, where a hundred Yoash 
Kirghiz lived in twenty tents. Their 
chief invited us to a dinner of sour milk, 
greasy mutton, bouillon, and tea. 

In the Chinese frontier fort of Ulug- 
chat, a garrison of eighty Kirghiz and 
twenty-five Chinese soldiers was com- 
manded by one Khoang Darin. In the 
evening, he called on me, accompanied 
by three beks and twelve men, with a 
gift of a fat-tail sheep. 


A KIRGHIZ AT IRKESHTAM, ON THE BOR- Day by day, the country unfolded 
DER BETWEEN RUSSIAN AND CHINESE . 
aay Ses itself. ‘Toward the east, our eyes sur- 


veyed endless stretches, extending far 
into the desert. On the fourteenth of December, we rode through the 
first villages surrounding the oasis of Kashgar, and so to the Russian 
consulate, situated outside the city wall. A tall, elderly, bearded man, 
with gold-rimmed eyeglasses, a conical, green cap, and a long Sart 
khalat, or cloak, came out and received us graciously in the court. He 
was Nicolai Feodorovitch Petrovsky, Privy Councilor and Imperial 
Russian Consul General for East Turkestan. I stayed at his house for 
ten days. He proved to be my friend in later journeys, also, when I 
again made Kashgar my headquarters. 


CNP OV TEE re ARE OO Res A STA 99 


Kashgar has passed from one conqueror to another, representing 
many different peoples, of Aryan or Mongolian descent; and this soil, 
too, recalls memories of the days of Jenghiz Khan and Tamerlane. The 
Chinese ruled the country at various times. From 1865 to 1877, Yakub 
Bek, a conqueror from Russian ‘Turkestan, ruled despotically all the 
country between Tibet and the Tian-Shan. Since his death, the Chinese 
have again held the reins of power. | 

Kashgar is a peculiar city in that it is more distant from the ocean 
than any other city in the world. Dao Tai was the Chinese governor 
of Kashgar; but the most powerful man 
in the place was Petrovsky, who was 
dubbed ‘‘the new Jagatai Khan” by the 
native Sart population. The consulate 
boasted a military force of forty-five 
Cossacks and two officers. 

I remember, too, with gratitude and 
sympathy, four other men who lived 
there, though death has separated me 
from two of them, and the World War 
from the other two. These last two 
were Captain (later Colonel Sir Fran- 
cis) Younghusband and Mr. Macartney 
(later Sir George Macartney). Young- 
husband had quite recently completed 
his first long journey through Asia, | 
across the pass of Mustagh, and was Gh ina Ce CIN Ronen 
now living in the garden of Chinne- 
bagh, outside the city wall. He had no house, but a huge kibitka in- 
stead, with wooden floors, covered with carpets, and on the walls of 
which hung costly shawls and rugs from Kashmir. Macartney was his 
Chinese interpreter. Gurkhas, Afghans, and other Indian natives were 
in his suite. I spent many a memorable evening with these two amiable 
Englishmen. 

One day, as we were chatting in the consul’s study, a bearded spec- 
tacled priest, in the long, brown garb of a monk, entered and greeted me 
with a few Swedish words. Father Hendricks was a Hollander. In 
1885, he had arrived in Kashgar, from Tomsk, by way of Kulja, accom- 
panied by a Pole, Adam Ignatieff. He had not received a single letter 


100 MY LIFE AS AN EXPLORER 


since his arrival, and mystery seemed to surround his past. Nobody 
knew anything about that past, and he himself was silent. But regarding 
Ignatieff—a tall man, clean-shaven, with close-cut hair as white as chalk, 
robed in white, and with a crucifix and chain around his neck—it was 
known that he had assisted in hanging a Russian priest during the last 
Polish revolution, a deed that warranted deportation to Siberia. He 
lived in a poor hovel near the consulate, and took all his meals at the 
consul’s house. 

At an Indian caravansary, Father Hendricks occupied an equally 
bare room, with earthen floor and paper windows, a chair, a table, a 
bed, and a few wine-barrels—for he was an expert wine-maker. The 
room, one wall of which was adorned by a crucifix, also served as a 
church. He never failed to celebrate mass. His congregation consisted 
of Adam Ignatieff. Father Hendricks preached to Ignatieff for a few 
years, and then they had a falling-out. Adam Ignatieff was barred from 
the church, and the congregation ceased to exist. But the priest con- 
tinued to say mass to the bare walls and the filled wine-barrels, while 
poor Adam had to stand outside, with his ear glued to the keyhole. 

Some Chinese soldiers were stationed at the city gates, but most of 
the garrison was at Yangi Shahr, a walled city, seven miles away. At 
the Sart Kashgar, the open market-places, with their booths, where 
unveiled women were among those selling, were most picturesque. Here 
and there, too, a mosque broke the monotony of the yellow-grey, clay 
houses. Yakub Bek rests in the court outside the funeral-mosque of 
Hazret Apak, under mulberry and plane trees. The Chinese are said 
to have burnt his corpse when they recaptured the city. 

There are many other saints’ graves around Kashgar. Indeed, 
there are so many of them, that the people themselves see the ludicrous- 
ness of it. ‘he following anecdote was current at the time: 

A sheik used to teach the Koran to his disciples at a saint’s grave 
outside Kashgar. One day, one of the pupils came to the sheik and 
said: “Father, give me money and food, so that I may go out into the 
world and try my luck.”” The sheik answered: “I have nothing else to 
give you but a donkey. ‘Take it, and may Allah bless your journey.” 
With his donkey, the youth wandered for days and nights, and finally 
crossed the great desert. ‘There the donkey pined away and died. Be- 
wailing his loss and his loneliness, the youth dug a grave in the sand, 
buried the donkey, and sat down on the grave tq weep. ‘Then some 


TaN) vi ee ee ee Oe ASA 101 


rich merchants passed by with their caravan. Seeing the youth, they 
asked: ‘‘Why do you weep?’ He answered: “I have lost my only 
friend, my faithful travelling-companion.”’ ‘The merchants were so 
touched by this fidelity, that they decided to have a magnificent mauso- 
leum erected on the hill. Huge caravans carried bricks and faience to 
the place, and a sacred edifice, with a shining cupola and minarets reach- 
ing to the clouds, rose in the desert. ‘The tale of the new saint’s grave 
travelled fast, and pilgrims from far and near thronged there to perform 
their devotions. After many years, the old sheik from Kashgar also 
went there. Astonished at finding his former pupil a sheik at so promi- 
nent a saint’s grave, he asked: “Tell me, in confidence, who is the saint 
that rests under this cupola?’ ‘The pupil whispered: ‘“‘It is only the 
donkey. you gave me.—Now you tell me who was the saint that reposed 
where you used to teach me?” ‘To which the old sheik replied: ‘It 
was the father of your donkey.” 


CHAPTER VAX Y 
With the Emir of Bokhara 


N Christmas Eve, I started on a jolly journey, a wild and 
whizzing expedition, on horseback, by sleigh, and by car- 
riage, through all of western Asia. Three Cossacks from 
the consulate, who had finished their term of service, were 

returning to Narinsk, in Semiryetchensk, the Country of Seven Rivers, on 
the Russian side, and I was going with them. 

We travelled northward with our little caravan of pack-horses. The 
way took us through narrow valleys, in a biting cold (—4°). We 
crossed rivers that were only partly frozen. ‘There the Cossacks proved 
invaluable. They rode out on 

the ice near the shore till it 
broke, and the horses plunged 
like dolphins among the ice- 
cakes. I often feared the ani- 
mals would rip their bellies open 
’ on the sharp edges of the ice. 
ih. vb (f =| The water reached to the middle 
Maa, Ye Mca | of our saddles, and we had to 
balance ourselves cross-legged in 
order to keep our felt boots dry. 
Higher up, the watercourses 
were frozen solid. The horses 

THE PONIES HAD TO JUMP INTO THE ICY WATER Fs ° 
AS WE CROSSED THE HALF-FROZEN RIVERS slid along, and danced like ma- 
niacs, on the crystal-like surface 
of the ice. We crossed the Chinese border, rode through the pass of 
Turugart (12,740 feet), across the frozen and snow-covered lake of 
Chatyr-kul, and over the pass of Tash-rabat (12,900 feet). We were 
in a labyrinth of valleys, in an entanglement of grand, wild mountains, 
belonging to the Tian-shan range, or the ‘‘Celestial Mountains,” as the 

Chinese call them. 


102 


WITH THE EMIR OF BOKHARA 103 


From the last-mentioned pass, the path descended in countless, sharp 
turns, between sharp-edged, rocky points and spurs, at that season partly 
covered with snow or ice. Here a pack-horse slipped, rolled down the 
precipice, broke his neck, and died where he fell. 

It snowed frequently; and on New Year’s Day, 1891, the flakes fell 
like a closely-woven, white veil. At Narinsk, the caravan dispersed, 
and I drove alone, for one thousand miles, to Samarkand. ‘The sledge- 
road was splendid. We usually drove with two horses; but, where the 
snow was deep and loose, three horses were used. The driver sat on the 
right side of his seat, his legs dangling outside, and urged his horses on 
with an encouraging,—‘‘Well, little dove, that’s it, my boy, try again, 
pull away, little father.” The bells tinkled merrily, the snow fell and 
fell, wrapping its veil around us, and the drifts at the sides of the road 
grew several feet deep. We went along at breakneck speed. ‘The 
sled pitched like a boat on the uneven road, but it was not easily upset, 
being provided with two horizontal safety-runners that acted as buffers 
when the sled was on the verge of tipping over. Only once, at night, 
we capsized completely in a snow-covered ditch, but we soon righted the 
sled on a more even slope, and on we went, jolting and tossing, through 
the dark. 

On arriving at the most westerly narrow end of the big lake of Issik- 
kul—the Warm Lake, as it is called, because its tepid sources and depth 
prevent freezing—I decided to make a pilgrimage to the grave of 
Przhevalsky, the great Russian traveller, located near the town which 
now bears his name. The distance was one hundred and twenty-six 
miles. A black, wooden cross, with a figure of Christ and a laurel- 
wreath, rose on the hillock. It was barely two years since Przhevalsky 
had passed away in this waste land, at the threshold of a new journey 
of discovery into the heart of Asia. 

We journeyed westward, along the northern base of the Alexander 
Range, to the little town of Aulie Ata. At the ford across the Asa 
River, travellers and fragile baggage were taken through water three 
and one-half feet deep, in an araba, a cart on two high wheels, while 
the horses pulled the empty sled across, floating like a boat. 

It snowed incessantly. The temperature sank to —9°, and thus the 
snow remained loose. ‘The three-horse team jumped through drifts 
several feet high, the snow flying round the sled like foam. But as I 
approached Chimkent and Tashkent, the drifts grew smaller; and west 


104 * MMGY Ss TBE GALS PANO ES Pal? Rae 


of the capital, where the ground was bare, the sled was abandoned, and 
I continued the journey in a tarantass. 

At Chinas, I reached the shore of the Sindee The ferries could 
not be operated in the drift-ice. A small, frail boat had to be used 
instead; and I and a young lieutenant from Courland were poled across 
the river by three sturdy men, with iron-shod poles, amid drifting, 
crackling ice-floes. 

After we had crossed, we each took a three-horse tarantass and 
went on. Half-way to the station of Mirsa-rabat, the rear axletree 
of my vehicle broke. One wheel got loose, the body of the carriage 
scraped the ground, the horses became frightened, and ran wildly 
towards the steppe. ‘The carriage jumped, bumped, and was knocked 
about among the hillocks. I had to hold on for dear life. The horses, 
exhausted, stopped at last. The driver and I salvaged our scattered 
belongings and loaded: everything onto one of the horses. Then riding 
bareback on the other two, and abandoning the wrecked tarantass, we 
proceeded to Mirsa-rabat, where the ne lieutenant was an ae 
our arrival. 

Our next misadventure occurred at the Jisak River, whither we had 
proceeded late in the evening. ‘The sky was clouded, there was a strong 
wind, and it was nasty-cold. Shortly before midnight, we reached the 
bank of the river. The water was high, and the drift-ice abundant. 
Not a living creature was to be seen, when our two tarantasses halted 
at the ford. 

The leutenant from Courland entered the ice-strewn water first. 
His carriage had not proceeded more than a few lengths, before it was 
stuck in the broken ice. ‘[he cakes piled up on the carriage, and the 
horses could not budge it. After several vain attempts, the horses were 
unharnessed. ‘The Courlander took his belongings, and, together with 
his driver, rode safely back to shore. The carriage had to be aban- 
doned. It probably remained there till the following spring, unless it 
was crushed to pieces when the ice broke up. 

The drivers knew of another fordable place, where the river branched 
into two arms. ‘wo of the Courlander’s horses were accordingly har- 
nessed to my ¢roika, and his things stowed with mine. He himself sat 
on the driver’s seat, his back to the horses, ince: himself by the 
fore edge of the hood. 

When everything was ready, we set out to cross the first branch. 


Wel bene TR re Ni Ros Pa BO ok baa RA 105 


The ice bore us splendidly, while the heavy vehicle rumbled across. 
Powdered ice flew about the horses’ hoofs. One of them slipped, but 
recovered himself in time. All went well until we got to the other 
branch, where the bank sloped steeply down toward the water, and 
turned sharply towards the right. 

Uttering wild shouts, and swishing his whip, the driver urged the 
horses on. Foaming and rearing, their every muscle twitching, they 
plunged spiritedly downhill, until they were half in the water. We 
reached the turning. ‘The two right-hand wheels were still on the ice- 
slope, when those on the left slipped down into the river. - It all 


A TERRIBLE ACCIDENT AT NIGHT IN THE RIVER JISAK 


happened in an instant. Seeing what was coming, I pressed myself 
against the right side of the hood. ‘The horses were going full speed 
when they made the turn. The carriage upset in three feet of water, 
and with such force that the hood was smashed to pieces. The two 
leading horses fell and got so badly entangled in their harness that they 
nearly drowned. At just the right moment, the driver jumped into 
the river to their assistance. The water reached to his middle. The 
Courlander was hurled from his seat, and had a bloody encounter with 
a block of ice. Only the corners of my boxes stuck out of the water; 


106 MY LIFE AS AN EXPLORER 


and my blanket, my fur coat, and my rug were nearly carried away by 
the current. Many of our things were ruined; and everything was 
soaked, including ourselves. Little by little, we fished out our belong- 
ings. ‘They were sent across the river on horseback, and we followed, 
jumping from floe to floe. The next station was not far away. We 
dried our things there, and I salvaged what I could. But the poor 
Courlander barely escaped death. When I took him to a hospital, in 
Samarkand, he had a very high fever. 

I had received an invitation to visit Emir Said Abdul Ahad, of 
Bokhara, who at that season of the year lived in his castle at Shahr-i-sabs, 
not quite fifty miles from Samarkand. Not the least of Shahr-i-sabs’ 
titles to fame is the fact that Tamerlane the Great was born within its 
walls, in 1335. Iwas now to pay my respects to his successor, a shadow 
of a shadow—in reality a vassal of the Czar—a king who, attending the 
coronation of Alexander III, at Moscow, and being asked what aroused 
his greatest interest, answered, “Ihe iced lemonade.” 

I was received at the frontier by a 
troop of horsemen, and rode from vil- 
lage to village, accompanied by them 
and by a gradually increasing escort. 
When we halted for the night, we found 
nice, warm rooms, strewn with rugs, 
and everywhere a dastarkhan, or 
“treat,” consisting of mounds of pastry, 
raisins, almonds, fruit, and sweets, be- 
sides the regular meat. Shadibek Ka- 
raol Begi Shigaul, a court official, with a 
group of gentlemen dressed in red or 
blue velvet khalats, riding splendid 
horses that were covered with gold- 
embroidered saddle-cloths, met me, and 
extended a welcome from the Emir. At 
1i_§ all points, the people flocked to watch 

A DERVISH IN TURKESTAN our imposing cavalcade. 

In the city of Kitab, where the magis- 
trate honoured me with a banquet, I was questioned about my country, 
and about the relations between Sweden and Russia. This fact explains 
why, later on, the Emir was so well informed about Sweden. 


WITH THE EMIR OF BOKHARA 107 


Clavijo’s account of his reception on the way to Tamerlane’s court 
at Samarkand, shows that the ceremonial has not altered much in the 
course of nearly five hundred years. In the memoirs of Sultan Babur, 
the first Grand Mogul of Hindustan, we read that Shahr-i-sabs and 
Kitab were formerly surrounded by a common wall, which in spring was 
covered by verdure so luxuriant, that it gave rise to the name of Ver- 
dant City. 

A stately palace was placed at my disposal. The dastarkhan was 
served on thirty-one huge platters. My bed was covered with red silk, 
and large, wonderful Bokhara rugs were spread on the floor. If only 
I had been allowed to take a couple of them home! 

The next morning, at nine o’clock, the reception took place. Dressed 
in my best, I rode through the door of Ak Serai, once Tamerlane’s pal- 
ace. Officers in blue uniforms accompanied me, fifty men presented 
arms, and a band of thirty musicians played. The procession was led 
by two heralds, in khalats, gold-embroidered, carrying gold staffs in 
their hands. 

We rode through three castle courtyards before we were met by 
the court officials at the new castle. I 
was ushered into a big reception-room, 
in the centre of which stood two arm- 
chairs. One of them was occupied by 
the Emir. He rose, and bade me wel- 
come, in Persian. He was a tall, hand- 
some, black-bearded man, with pure 
Aryan features. He wore a white-satin 
turban, a blue-velvet khalat, epaulets, 
a belt, and a scimitar; and his dress 
sparkled with diamonds. 

For twenty minutes we talked about 
my journey, about Sweden, Russia, and 
Bokhara. Afterwards, the governor of 
the city gave a stupendous banquet of 
forty courses. On this occasion, he 
handed me a gold souvenir from the 
meen towetner withwamadicees tat hee ABAD. BMUR OF, BOenaRe 
gan with these wonderful words: 

“At this time Aga Sven Hedin of Istokolm has arrived in Turkestan 


108 MY ‘LIFE. AS AN EXPLORER 


in order to see the land. Owing to the bonds of friendship which unite 
us with H.M. the Emperor of Russia [!] he has been allowed to enter 
the domains of blessed Bokhara and has had the honour to appear before 
our eyes to make our acquaintance. . . .” 

I had nothing to give the Emir and his gentlemen in return, my 
travelling-funds permitting no extravagances. All that I could do was 
to try, by seemly behaviour, to uphold the good name which Sweden 
evidently enjoyed with this last kind, but impotent occupant of Timur’s 
throne. 

I next spent a week with Lessar, the Russian Minister at Bokhara, 
one of the most learned and noble men who ever represented the Czar 
at an Asiatic court. 

I finally returned, through the desert of Kara-kum, across the Cas- 
pian Sea, through Caucasia, Novorossiysk, Moscow, St. Petersburg, and 
Finland, to my old home in Stockholm. 


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Two Thousand Miles in a Carriage—A Winter Ride on the “Roof of 
the World” 


HEN I reached home, in the spring of 1891, I felt like the 

conquerer of an immense territory; for I had traversed 

Caucasia, Mesopotamia, Persia, Russian Turkestan, and 

Bokhara, and had penetrated into Chinese Turkestan. I 

therefore felt confident that I could strike a fresh blow, and conquer 

all Asia, from west to east. My years of apprenticeship in Asiatic ex- 

ploration were indeed behind me; yet before me lay great and serious 

geographical problems. I was burning with desire once more to take the 

road of wild adventure. Step by step I had worked my way deeper 

and deeper towards the heart of the largest continent of the world. 

Now I was content with nothing less than to tread paths where no 
European had ever set foot. 

Eventually it proved to be a journey which lasted three years, six 
months, and twenty-five days, and covered a distance greater than that 
from Pole to Pole. About 10,500 kilometres—equivalent to one- 
fourth the circumference of the earth, or two and a half times the dis- 
tance between New York and San Francisco—was mapped out. ‘The 
charts, in five hundred and fifty-two sheets, measured three hundred and 
sixty-four feet. Of this mapped portion, nearly one-third, or 3,250 kilo- 
metres, represented land hitherto absolutely unknown. ‘The expense 
of the trip was less than ten thousand dollars. 

I did not wish to start until I had been thoroughly drilled in Asiatic 
geography by Baron von Richthofen; and so it was October 16, 1893, 
before I bade a long farewell to my family, cast off from my moorings, 
and started eastward to St. Petersburg. 

On the way from the Czar’s capital to Orenburg, a distance of 2,250 
kilometres, we whizzed through Moscow and the Tamboff forests, and 
across the Volga on a bridge 4,867 feet long. Orenburg is the capital 


of the ““Orenburg Cossacks,” and the governor is their ataman, or chief. 
. 109 


110 MY DUPE AS WAIN BAO rR ek 


The presence of Bashkirs, Kirghiz, and Tatars showed that this was 
the threshold of Asia. 

My first objective was Tisene I was already familiar with the 
southern route from the Caspian Sea. ‘This time I wanted to try the 
northern route, through the Kirghiz Steppe, 2,080 kilometres long, and 
divided into ninety-six stages. The entire journey—a distance as great 
as that from Los Angeles to Omaha—was made by tarantass; and, in 
order to avoid transferring baggage ninety-six times, the traveller 
usually bought his own carriage and spare parts, besides carrying lubri- 
cants and provisions. The staresta, or station-master, was always a 
Russian. The yamshchiks, or drivers, were Tatars or Kirghiz, who 
earned a yearly salary of sixty-five roubles, besides one and a half puds 
of bread and half a sheep a month. ‘The station houses had rooms fur- 
nished with tables, chairs, and couches, where travellers could rest over- 
night. In one corner there was an icon, and on the table a Bible, the 
gift of Przhevalsky. 

Annenkoff’s railroad to Samarkand, which was soon extended to 
Tashkent, dealt a hard blow to the wagon-road through the Kirghiz 
Steppe. ‘The road was, however, still kept up, for strategic reasons, 
until finally it was supplanted by a railway. 

As it was, I bought a tarantass at Orenburg for seventy-five roubles, 
and sold it afterwards at Margelan for fifty. My baggage weighed 
three hundred kilograms. ‘The boxes were sewed up in rush mats, and 
were fastened behind the car, as well as to the driver’s seat. Among 
them were two heavy ammunition-boxes. Had not my guardian angel 
protected me, I must certainly have been blown up; for the violent jounc- 
ing reduced the cartridges to powder, and it was a miracle that the 
priming did not make the whole thing go off. 

When I left Orenburg, on the fourteenth of November, it was 21°, 
and the first blizzard of the winter was raging. I sat on a small bundle 
of hay, covered with a rug, wrapped in furs, blankets, and bashlik, while 
the swirling snow blew under the raised hood in suffocating clouds. 
During the night, I was overtaken by the post-courier, a grey-bearded 
old man, who for twenty years had travelled to and fro, thirty-five times 
a year, between Orenburg and Orsk, a distance equal to that between 
the earth and the moon, plus six thousand miles. Powdered with snow, 
and with hoar-frost in his beard, he sat down at the samovar and drank 
eleven glasses of scalding-hot tea during the short rest. 


CrNGae bier ee OCP eon Trew OR ED? 71 


Orsk is a small town on the Asiatic shore of the Ural River. ‘Good- 
bye, Europe!” thought I, as the tarantass left the last street behind, 
and started on its journey through the immense Kirghiz Steppe, lying 
between the Caspian Sea, the Aral Sea, the Ural River, and the Irtysh. 
Wolves, foxes, antelopes, and hares abounded, Kirghiz nomads wan- 
dered there with their herds, pitching their kibitkas, or black, hive- 
shaped tents, and their reed tents along the frequent rivulets which empty 
into the salt-lakes. A well-to-do Kirghiz often owns three thousand 
sheep and five hundred horses. In 1845, the Russians conquered this 
part of the Steppe, and built some forts, which are still occupied by 
small garrisons. 

The wheels creaked on the frozen snow. The horses trotted and 
galloped, and the troika burnt up the road. The constant jolting nearly 
bumped me to pieces. We continued hour after hour, yet the tarantass 
remained the centre of a never-changing circle of plainland. Now and 
then the driver stopped for a spell to let the perspiring horses catch 
their breath. Occasionally he pointed his whip in the direction we were 
going and said: “‘After a while we'll meet a tarantass from the south.” 

With my field-glasses I scanned the horizon, and discovered nothing 
more than a tiny speck. But the driver could even make out the colour 
of the approaching horses. Their outdoor life on the steppe has sharp- 
ened the senses of the Kirghiz incredibly. In the middle of the night, 
when it is pitch-dark and cloudy, they find their way. Nothing baffles 
their sense of locality but the blizzards. Of course, the telegraph-poles 
mark the road, to a certain extent; but in heavy blizzards one can lose 
one’s way between two poles, leaving no choice but to wait for the dawn. 
During such nights it behooves one to beware of the wolves. 

_ At Tamdy, where I rested a few hours, and where the staresta fed 
the oven with dried steppe-plants, wolves came and stole three geese. 

On the twenty-first of November, the temperature fell to —4°, that 
being the coldest night I experienced on my way to Tashkent. The next 
station, Constantinovskaya, was of the humbler kind, consisting of only 
two kibitkas. Here the road ran along the Aral Sea, a salt-lake rich 
in fish, about the size of Victoria Nyanza, being smaller than Lake 
Superior, yet larger than Lake Huron. For seventy-two miles, our way 
ran through sand-dunes. ‘Three Bactrian camels were accordingly 
hitched to the tarantass. The driver rode the centre camel. It was 


112 MY -LIFESAS “AWN GEOR Oc Baki 


funny to see them run through the passes, their humps swaying from 
side to side. 

Soon we approached a warmer zone. It was raining, and the camels’ 
cushion-feet flopped against the wet sand. Thus we arrived at Kazalinsk, 
a small town on the Sir-daria (Jaxartes), where Ural Cossacks fish for 
sturgeon and do a good business in caviar. The road follows the bank 
of the great river. Countless tigers, boars, and pheasants inhabit the 
dense, almost impenetrable bush. A hunter gave me a proof of his 
skill by supplying me with pheasants enough to last me to Tash- 
kent. 

We were still one hundred and eight miles from the city of Turkestan, 
when our front axle broke. After it had been temporarily mended, 
we drove cautiously and slowly to this ancient city, where a beautiful 
memorial mosque, with cupolas and minarets, had been erected, by 
Tamerlane, over Hazret Sultan Khoja, the patron saint of the Kirghiz. 

We rolled farther and farther on this endless journey through the 
Steppe. Once the tarantass got so hopelessly stuck in the mud, that 
the three horses could not budge it an inch. It was a pitch-dark night. 
The horses kicked, reared, and broke their harness. Finally the driver 
had to ride one of them back to the station, to fetch help. Hours 
passed, and the night-wind howled. I waited and waited, wondering 
if the wolves would take advantage of this opportunity. At last the 
driver returned, with one man and two horses; and after a while we 
were able to go on. 

We crossed the Aris River on a ferry. The terrain undulated — 
slightly, and we were drawn by an ordinary piatorka, or five-horse team, 
a man riding the leader. As the heavy carriage rolled downhill at a 
dizzy speed, and the horses ran in full career, I was in deadly fear 
lest the rider’s horse fall and he himself be crushed under the wheels. 
But nothing untoward happened. At Chimkent we came to the first 
of the places that I had learned to know on my previous journey; and 
on the fourth of December, with bells jingling, we rolled into Tashkent. 

Thus, in nineteen days, I had traversed eleven and a half degrees of 
latitude, passed thirty thousand telegraph-poles, employed one hundred 
and eleven drivers, used three hundred and seventeen horses and twenty- 
one camels, and passed from a Siberian winter to a temperature that, in 
the daytime, rose to 54°. 

At Tashkent, where I again made myself at home in the house of 


eta) ROO yO nowt bbe aw ORD? 113 


the Governor General, Baron von Wrewski, and at Margelan, where 
I stayed with General Pavalo-Shweikowsky, Governor of Ferghana, I 
completed the purchase of my heavier impedimenta—tents, blankets, 
fur coats, felt boots, saddles, provisions, kitchen-utensils, fresh ammu- 
nition, and maps of Russian Asia—as well as presents for the natives, 
such as cloth, dresses, revolvers, tools, knives, daggers, silver cups, 
watches, magnifying-glasses, and other curious objects. For all this 
heavy luggage, I bought leather-covered, wooden, Sart chests (yakhtan), 
which could be adjusted to the pack-saddles of the horses. 

I had decided to go to Kashgar by way of Pamir, one of the most 
notable mountain-regions in the whole of Central Asia. Pamir is like 
a knot of enormous, clustered masses of snow-covered mountains, from 
which radiate the highest and mightiest ranges of the earth: to the 
northeast, the Tian-shan, to the southeast, the Kuen-lun, the Mustagh 
Range, or Kara-korum, and the Himalayas, and to the southwest, the 
Hindu Kush. It is thus properly named Taghdumbash, or ‘The Roof 
of the World.” 

Russian Turkestan, Bokhara, Afghanistan, British Kashmir, and 
Chinese Turkestan are the countries whose political interests meet in 
Pamir. At the time of which I write, this region gave cause for con- 
siderable political tension between Russia and Great Britain. The 
British and the Afghans had strongholds in the western and southern 
parts of the country. The Chinese likewise maintained themselves in 
the east. In 1891, the Russians asserted their claim to the northern 
parts by means of a military display; and, two years later, they built 
the fort of Pamirsky Post, on the Murgab, one of the sources of the 
Amu-daria. The slightest imprudence capable of interpretation as a 
challenge, would have precipitated war. | 

The road from Margelan to Pamirsky Post was two hundred and 
ninety-four miles long. ‘The distance was not great, yet the winter road 
was to be dreaded because of the cold and the snow. The mercury 
still froze at night. Everybody warned me that I would never emerge 
alive from the deep snows of the Alai Valley. Only the jigits, the 
Kirghiz couriers who bore the mail between Margelan and the fort, 
could manage it; and even they often met with terrible misadventures 
and suffering. 

Nevertheless, I persisted. To try conclusions with the winter snow 
on “The Roof of the World” was just what tempted me. General 


114 MY LIFE AS AN EXPLORER 


Pavalo-Shweikowsky sent a mounted messenger to the Kirghiz tent- 
villages along the road, ordering them to receive me and to assist me 
in every way; and Captain Saitseff, commander of the fort, also was 
notified of my coming. 

I had no elaborate or heavy encumbrances. Only three men were 
to go with me: Rehim Bai, my body-servant, and two caravan-men, one 
of whom, Islam Bai, became my faithful servant through many difficult 
years. I hired a riding-horse and seven pack-horses, at one rouble a day 
per horse, thus relieving myself of responsibility for the care and feed- 
ing of the beasts. The caravan-men brought three more horses, laden 
with grain and hay, at their own expense. 

On the twenty-third of February, 1894, we started. Our way took 
us through the valley of the Isfairan River, which cuts through the 
northern slopes of the Alai Mountains. 
The higher we rose, the worse the path 
became. We left the last settlement be- 
hind, and the last frail, wooden bridges. 
The valley narrowed down to nothing 
more than a corridor, and the path 
climbed the steep mountain-slopes, now 
on the right, now on the left. Ice 
marked the sites of springs along the 
path. At one of these places, a pack- 

horse slipped, turned a double somer- 
ONE OF OUR HORSES FELL DOWN TO THE ° ° e 
SOCTOM OF THE’ VALLEY AND was Sault; “broke ‘his spine ‘apaiisty = seem 
KILLED IMMEDIATELY jecting point of slate, and died on the 
river-bank. 

A crowd of natives accompanied us from the last village—and they 
certainly were needed! What remained of the road was terrible. The 
path ran like a cornice along precipices. Sometimes it was buried under 
snow, sometimes covered with ice. Picks and axes were constantly in 
use, and the most slippery spots had to be sanded. ‘Twilight crept 
silently over the district, and night set in. We still had a three hours’ 
tramp to our camping-place. We climbed, crawled, and slid on the 
brink of abysses, the bottoms of which we could not see in the dark. 
Each horse was led by one man, while another man held onto its tail, 
ready to help, in case the animal slipped. Wild shouts reverberated in 
the valley. Our progress was constantly interrupted. A horse would 


PrN ete ot Oe rr ERS WORE DD’? 115 


slip on the edge, and would have to be held until help arrived, so as to 
free him of his load. It was the season of avalanches. Every minute 
we were in danger of being buried by loosened masses of snow. Skele- 
tons of horses were lying around. Not infrequently, whole caravans, 
men and all, were buried by such avalanches. | 

At last we reached a place where the valley expanded, and it was 
with a sense of indescribable relief that we saw flaming camp-fires in 
the distance. After twelve hours’ hard march, we brought up wearily 
at Langar, where the Kirghiz had pitched a nice yurt, or blanket-tent, 
for my benefit. 

From here, I sent eight Kirghiz, with shovels, picks, and axes, to 
the Tengis-Bai Pass, in the Alai mountain-range, to dig a path for our 
horses; and the next day, we rode to Rabat, a small shelter, at an alti- 
tude of 9,550 feet, where I and several of my men became thoroughly 
acquainted with the headache, heart-palpitation, ear-buzzing, and nausea 
which constitute mountain-sickness. I could not bear the sight of the © 
evening meal, and I slept badly. Later on, in Tibet, I got used to rare- 
fied air, and did not feel the slightest distress, even at 16,000 feet. 

Early the next morning, we started off along the trail which the 
Kirghiz had dug. ‘The Alai mountain-ridge towered before and above 
us. We emerged into a steeply ascending trough, that was as white as 
chalk. On the six-foot-deep snow the Kirghiz had trodden a narrow 
path that was as ticklish as planks on a marsh; for a misstep meant 
sinking into the snow. After zigzagging hundreds of times, we reached 
the pass (12,500 feet) and had a splendid view over a vast region of 
snow-covered ridges. Southward, the Alai Valley stretched between 
the Alai and the Transalai mountain-ranges, running east and west. 

A glen led down to the Alai Valley. We followed it, crossing and 
recrossing a small brook, on bridges and arches of snow. ‘The horses 
frequently broke through, and it took our united efforts to haul them 
out and reloadthem. A huge avalanche had come down the day before, 
filling the glen and obliterating the road. The Kirghiz congratulated 
us on having escaped it. We were now walking on top of it, with per- 
haps twenty or thirty yards of snow under our feet. 

At Daraut-kurgan, where we entered the Alai Valley, there was 
an aul, or tent-village, of twenty yurts. We could see a blizzard raging 
over Tengis-bai, and again the Kirghiz congratulated us. One day 


116 MY LIP BVAS) ANGE XPD ORR 


earlier, and we would have been buried underneath the avalanche; and 
one day later, we would have been snowed up and frozen to death in the 
blizzard. 

The blizzard had reached Daraut-kurgan the night before the first 
of March. It nearly wrecked the yurts, which had to be stayed with 
ropes and stones. When I awoke, I found a small snow-wall across 
my pillow. ‘The yurts were embedded in snow a yard deep. 

Having rested for a day, we continued our journey with Kirghiz 
pilots, who sounded the snow with long staffs. Far ahead, on the 
boundless expanse of white, I saw, with satisfaction, a small, black spot, 
the yurt where we were to spend the night. A fire was burning there, 
the smoke swirling out through the opening in the smoke-board. That 
evening, a Kirghiz entertained us by playing on a stringed instrument. 
During the night, the blizzard raged again. 

Our way continued eastward along the Alai Valley, down which the 
Kizil-zu River (the ‘‘Red Water’’), one of the sources of the Amu- 
daria, flows eastwards. Here we had to set four camels to treading 
down a path for our horses. Sometimes they sank completely into 
the snow, and had to be taken to less-deep places. 

We approached the yurt of our next night’s camp to within one hun- 
dred and fifty paces. But that short distance was traversed with diffi- 
culty. Between us and the tents was a ravine, filled with nine feet of 
snow. ‘The first pack-horse disappeared completely, but was freed from 
his boxes and hauled up by means of ropes. It was useless to try to 
shovel the snow away. The Kirghiz hit upon the expedient of remoy- 
ing pieces of blanket from the yurt, and spreading them out on the snow. 
The horses were then led, one by one, over the blankets, step by step. 
It seemed an eternity before we got them all across. 

Complete walls of snow surrounded the blanket-tent. During the 
night the temperature was —5°. he next morning, the highest point 
of the Transalai, Kauffmann Peak (23,000 feet), stood forth in all its 
splendour. 

From Jiptik, our camp, I sent a Kirghiz to fetch help. His horse 
plunged in the snow up to the rider’s knees. It looked too funny for 
anything. He soon had to give up the attempt. We were literally 
snowed in, and we had no choice but to wait. 

At last, some Kirghiz arrived with camels and horses, and they 


Ome wi bi TR Oe hag aet bike a W ORE DD?” 117 


helped us along for a while. ‘They told us that deeper snows were not 
uncommon, and that yaks were employed to butt their way through, 
thus making a tunnel, through which horses and men followed. 

They also told of forty sheep, belonging to one of their friends, 
which had been bitten to death by a wolf during the last blizzard. An- 
other man had recently lost a hundred and eighty sheep. The wolf 
is the Kirghiz’s worst enemy. A single wolf, stealing up on a herd of 
sheep, at night, during a blizzard, will bite them all to death. His 
thirst for blood is unquenchable. But God help him if the Kirghiz 
capture him alive! They tie a heavy pole to his neck and a piece of 
wood between his jaws, and wind ropes about them. ‘Then they let the 
wolf loose, torture him with whips and scourges, blind him with glowing 
coals, and stuff his mouth with dry snuff. On one such occasion, I had 
a chance to shorten the wolf’s agonies. 

Many a wild sheep (called Ovis Poli, after Marco Polo) has been 
torn to pieces by the wolves, who hunt systematically, establishing out- 
posts and pursuing the sheep to a steep declivity. The sheep, on seeing 
their panting, red-eyed persecutors behind them, prefer a leap over the 
precipice, breaking the fall, so the Kirghiz say, by landing on the pads 
at the base of their powerful and beautifully-shaped horns. But even 
so, the sheep are doomed; for other wolves are waiting for them at the 
foot of the precipice. | 

One of my Kirghiz, with a companion, travelled through the Alai 
Valley the previous winter, and was attacked by twelve wolves. But 
fortunately the men were armed. ‘They shot two of the wolves, which 
were at once devoured by the rest. 

Not long before, a Kirghiz had gone from one tent to another, but 
did not return. A search revealed his skull, and other parts of his 
skeleton, together with his fur coat, in the snow, where bloody traces 
of a hopeless and desperate struggle could be seen. I could not rid 
myself of the image of that solitary man; and I lay awake at night, 
thinking of his plight when he found himself surrounded by the wolves. 
He must have tried to reach the tent-village, but the wolves undoubtedly 
attacked him on all sides. He probably drew his dagger and stabbed 
right and left, which only increased the fury and bloodthirstiness of his 
assailants. Finally his strength must have failed him, he staggered from 
exhaustion, all grew dark, and he entered the endless night, as the fangs 
of the nearest wolf sank into his throat. 


118 MY LIFE AS °ANVTERPLORER 


We crossed the Kizil-zu at a point where a huge strip of ice out- 
lined the shore, while in the middle the water flowed fast and deep. 
The horses had to jump from the slippery ice into the angry waters, 
and then gather themselves for a leap to the rim of ice on the other 
side. 

Not far from here, we camped in deep snow, of which enough had 
been cleared away to make room for atent. ‘The night was sparklingly 
clear and still, and beautiful with its shining stars and snow. ‘The tem- 
perature was —30°. I felt sorry for the horses. They had to stand 
outside and freeze. ) 

Riding eastward, as we were, I found that the right side of my body 
was kept quite warm by the sun, while the left side, being in the shade, 
got frost-bitten. The skin of my face became chapped, and flaked off, 
but eventually it hardened and became tough as parchment. 

Bordoba is a small mud-hut where post-couriers put up. I went 
there in advance, with a Kirghiz. We ploughed through a three-foot 
snow, and did not arrive until late at night. We could see the tracks 
of seven wolves near by. 

From this place, the ground rises to the pass of Kizil-art (14,000 
feet), in the Transalai. At the top stands a cairn and some poles with 
fluttering streamers. The Kirghiz kneel there and thank Allah for 
granting them a safe journey across this holy but dreaded pass. Later, 
in Tibet, I frequently encountered the same custom—the same cairns, 
the same poles and streamers, and the same veneration of the mountain- 
spirits. 

On the south side of the pass there was much less snow. ‘The lowest 
temperature we experienced during the entire expedition was —37°. 
This was at the mud-hut of Kok-sai. 

The next day, we crossed a small, threshold-like ridge, from the 
crest of which one’s eye embraced the entire prospect of Kara-kul, the 
“Black Lake.’ ‘The sun was setting, and the shadows of the western 
mountains moved quickly over the desolate, cold spaces. 

On March 11, I walked out on the immense ice-surface of Kara-kul, 
with four men, five horses, and provisions for two days. The rest of 
the party were to meet us on the southeastern shore. The area of 
this lake is one hundred and thirty square miles. It is thirteen miles 
long, and nine and a half miles wide. I thought of measuring its depth. 
We made soundings through holes in the eastern end, and spent the 


PN er be hiO0 0 BOB HB i WORLD? +119 


night on a small, rocky island. The ice made strange sounds, as if 
drums and bass-viols were being moved, or the doors of closed automo- 
biles were being slammed. My men believed that giant fishes were 
beating their heads against the ice-roof. 

After the large western basin of the lake had been sounded, and 
had shown a maximum depth of seven hundred and fifty-six feet, my 
Kirghiz and I followed the trail of the others, who had gone ahead. 
Twilight had already merged into darkness. We came upon bare 
ground, and lost the trail; and we failed to pick it up, when we reached 
snow-covered ground again. We rode for four hours, shouting all the 
while; but there was no answer. Finally we halted where dry steppe- 
plants were growing, and we made a fire, not only to warm ourselves, 
but also to serve as a signal to our men. We sat and chatted until one 
o’clock, with never a piece of bread or a drop of tea, frightening one 
another with tales of wolves. ‘Then we wrapped ourselves up in our 
furs and went to sleep before the fire. 

Next morning we found the caravan. We went on into the valley 
of Mus-kol, which leads to the pass of Ak-baital (15,300 feet). ‘There 
were “‘ice volcanos” in the valley, formed from the water that welled 
up and froze, layer upon layer, the strata forming cones. The largest of 
these was twenty-six feet high, and six hundred and fifty feet around 
the base. 

The snow swirled and blew like a white bridal veil on the pass. We 
had to abandon one of our horses here. Kul Mametieff, the interpreter 
of Pamirsky Post, met us on the other side. He was a gay and agree- 
able Kirghiz, and had been educated in Russia. When we had ridden 
some distance, he pointed southward over the wide valley of Murgab, 
and said: “Do you see that flag over there? It is waving over Pamir- 
sky Post, the highest of all Russian forts!” 


CUA? TER vaya 
With the Kirghiz 


HE fort was built of blocks of earth and sand-bags. Guns 
were mounted on barbettes at the four corners. As we ad- 
vanced towards its northern front, the entire garrison of one 
hundred and sixty soldiers and Cossacks, drawn up on the 

parapet, began to cheer. At the main entrance, we were met by the 
commander, Captain Saitseff, who had been Skobeleff’s adjutant, and by 
the six officers of his staff. 

My arrival made a welcome break in their monotonous life. They 
had not seen a white man the whole winter long; and as my presence was 
like a godsend from the outside world, I was overwhelmed with hos- 
pitality and good-will, and was held a voluntary prisoner for twenty 
days. | 

It was a splendid rest! We talked, I sketched and took photo- 
graphs, and we made excursions on horseback to the Kirghiz chiefs of 
that region. On Sundays, games were organized, and the garrison 
danced to the music of a concertina. On Tuesdays we swept the north- 
ern horizon with field-glasses, hoping to pick out the longed-for mail- 
courier, bearing letters and newspapers. 

Before I was aware of it, the pleasant period of rest came to an 
end. On April 7, I said farewell, mounted my horse again, and rode 
northeast with my small company to Lake Rang-kul, where I stayed 
overnight in a yulameika, or flueless, conical tent. The lake, though 
only six feet deep, was covered with three feet of ice. Where the 
springs fed it, there was no ice. This lake was frequented by swarms 
of wild geese and wild ducks. | 

Continuing eastward, we crossed the Sarik-kol Mountains through 
the Chugatai Pass, on the further side of which we camped in the first 
Kirghiz tent-village located on Chinese soil. ‘Three beks, or chiefs, 
from Bulun-kul, a nearby Chinese fort, met us; and after counting us 


and looking us over carefully, they returned to the fort. A rumour was 
Iz0 


WoE Ha Tee ACU RG DZ ey 


afloat that a Russian army was on its way to conquer Chinese Pamir. 
It was even believed that we were concealing soldiers and weapons in 
our boxes. But, seeing that I was a lone European, with a few natives, 
they were reassured. 

Not far from Bulun-kul, the commander himself, Chao Darin, called 
with an escort of ten men. He made no objection to my plan of pro- 
ceeding to the western base of Mustagh-ata, but stipulated that I should 
leave one man and half of my luggage with him as security. The only 
road to Kashgar open to me was the one leading through the valley 
of the Gez-daria, which began at Bulun-kul. 

The Chinese were rather suspicious, and they kept guards and spies 
at our tents all night. But they did not bother us much. On April 14, 
I left with four men and four pack-horses, going southwards through 
the wide valley of Sarik-kol, past the beautiful little mountain-lake of 
Kara-kul, and arrived at the tent-village of ‘Togdasin Bek, a hospitable 
Kirghiz chief. The Kirghiz, on learning that a European was en- 
camped in the neighbourhood, brought their sick to my yurt, and I doc- 
tored them, as best I could, with quinine and other harmless, bitter 
things, which proved to be wonderfully efficacious! 

Mustagh-ata Mountain, the ‘‘Father of the Ice-Mountains,”’ towered 
above us, its summit 25,500 feet high, and crowned with a shimmering 
field of eternal snow. Like a beacon, visible from the interior of the 
deserts to the east, it rears its dome on the meridional mountains, known 
as the Kashgar Range, which border the Pamir highlands toward the 
basin of eastern Turkestan. 

The Kirghiz have many legends concerning Mustagh-ata. It is be- 
lieved to be a gigantic masar, or saint’s tomb, in which Moses, as well 
as Ali, rests. Some hundreds of years ago, a wise old man climbed 
the mountain. He found a lake on its summit, and a river, on the 
shore of which a white camel grazed. Venerable men, garbed in white, 
were sauntering in a garden of plum-trees. The sage partook of the 
fruit, whereupon one of the old men approached and congratulated 
him on not having spurned the fruit; for otherwise he would have had 
to remain there forever, like the rest. Then a rider on a white horse 
lifted him into the saddle, and rushed with him down the precipice. 

On the top of the ‘‘Father of the Ice-Mountains” there is also be- 
lieved to be a city, called Janaidar, inhabitants of which are absolutely 
happy, and know neither cold, nor suffering, nor death. 


122 MY LIFE AS AN ‘EXPLORER 


Wherever I went, and wherever I was a guest at the auls of the 
Kirghiz, I heard new tales of this sacred mountain. So it was only 
natural that I at length developed an irresistible desire to get better ac- 
quainted with it, and to storm 
its steep slopes—not necessarily 
mounting to the summit, but go- 
ing part of the way, at least. 

I accordingly left my horses 
and a couple of men in the val- 
ley, engaged six hardy Kirghiz, 
hired nine splendid yaks, and 
moved my camp two thousand 
feet higher, to a region free 
i ii from snow, with rocky beds and 

lh I} gravel-piles and murmuring gla- 
cier-brooks. We spent the first 
TWICE I TRIED TO ASCEND THE MUSTAGH-ATA, OR e 
“THE FATHER OF THE ICE-MOUNTAINS” night out of doors, by a fire of 
dry steppe-plants. 

But my first attempt to approach this giant mountain ended sadly. 
Aided by yaks, we climbed laboriously through the snow, up to the edge 
of the steep mountain-wall which borders the deep furrow of the huge 
Yam-bulak glacier on the north. From this point, we had a magnificent 
view of the Sarik-kol Valley to the west, and of the mighty glacier, which 
was fed by the névé basin under the top, and glided down, white and 
shimmering-blue, through its deep furrow, right below our feet, and 
emerged from its rocky abode proud as a king. 

But we were given little time for contemplation. The wind rose, 
and on the higher slopes a raging blizzard had begun. Clouds of snow 
whirled above us, it grew dark, and we had to return hastily to camp. 

During our absence, Togdasin Bek had come up to our camp with 
a big blanket-tent. He came at a most opportune moment! Before 
long, the blizzard enveloped the whole mountain. Everything was lost 
to view, and it was an agreeable thought to know that we were ade- 
quately protected against the wind. 3 

Realizing that it might be long before the weather would permit of 
a fresh ascent, I sent several Kirghiz down to the valley to fetch pro- 
visions. | 


Ne 


ro ald 
i is i) \ NI 
: hae 


———" = 


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| i hil yt i 
tN Aa 


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_———— = a 
4 = 5 = ——— < = 2 B 

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Wit Hee rr Or RG EE TZ 123 


But now ill-fate crossed all my plans. I became afflicted with a 
violent rheumatic inflammation of the eyes, which compelled me to seek 
warmer regions without delay. The expedition was broken up; and, 
blindfolded, I proceeded, with my little caravan, past Kara-kul and 
Bulun-kul, and farther along the wild, narrow valley of the Gez-daria, 
notorious as the resort of robbers and escaped thieves. 

Time and again we had to cross the river, which hurled itself be- 
tween mighty boulders, foaming and roaring. ‘The men waded through 
the water, in order to support the horses, which might have drowned 
but for this assistance. We found bridges only at a few places. One of 
them had a gigantic block of stone for a pier, and afforded an inter- 
esting view, as our horses crossed its sagging planks. 

The temperature rose quickly. We descended into summer air, 
the thermometer recording 66°. My eyes were nearly well again when 
we finally rode into Kashgar, on the first of May. 

I will relate only a few memories of my stay in Kashgar, which was 
largely spent with my old friend Petrovsky, the consul-general, and with 
the hospitable Mr. Macartney and the witty Father Hendricks. © 

My first duty was to visit Chan Dao Tai, governor of the city and 
the province, a splendid man, whom I knew from my first visit. He 
received me kindly and benevolently, granting every wish of mine as 
to passports and permission to go about freely. 

He came the next day to return my visit; and it was really a sight 
for the gods, his many-coloured procession marching into the court of 
the consulate. First came a herald, on horseback, who thumped a 
sonorous gong at every fifth step. Then followed a group of men on 
foot, carrying switches and daggers, with which to keep a path clear for 
His Excellency. He himself rode in a small, covered carriage, drawn 
by a fine mule. On each side walked attendants, carrying sunshades 
and yellow standards, inscribed in black, on high poles. The procession 
ended with a troop of gaily-uniformed riders, on white horses. 

One day, Adam Ignatieff, the Consul, and I were invited to a state 
dinner at Chan Dao Tai’s. Our Russian procession was plainer than 
that of the Chinese. The aksakal, or elder (literally ‘“‘white-beard’’), 
of the western Turkestan merchants rode at its head, and a horseman 
carried the flag of the Russian Empire in front of our carriage. The 
two officers of the escort and twelve Cossacks in white uniforms followed 


124 MY “LIFE AS AN VE RP EORER 


us. Thus we went through the entire city and its bazaars, across 
Rigistan, the market-place, and through the “Flea Bazaar,” where one 
could purchase old clothes and have the vermin thrown in. 

When we reached the office and residence of the governor, two guns 
were fired. Inthe inner court, our host and his suite met us. A large, 
round table stood in the centre of the dining-room. Our host shook the 
chairs, to indicate to us that they could bear our weight. He waved his 
hand over table and chairs, to indicate that everything was dusted and 
fine. He touched his forehead with the ivory chop-sticks, and then re- 
stored them to their place. 

We sat down and worked our way, by degrees, through forty-six 
courses. At intervals, hot liquors were served. Adam Ignatieff evoked 
admiration by his appetite and 
by his contempt of death, he hay- 
\ Rarenty ing emptied seventeen cups of 
- cede gyn spirits without becoming intoxti- 
he Tipe \| cated. The following motto was 

posted on the wall: “Drink and 
tell piquant tales.’ We did 
both. But I am afraid we fre- 
quently violated the laws of the 
best Chinese etiquette. Our 
hosts would probably have 
turned pale, had not their col- 
our, since childhood, been as yel- 
low as sun-dried peaches. A Sart orchestra played throughout the meal. 
As soon as the last course was finished, we departed. 

Summer was now in full swing and the heat rose to 95°. I could 
not forget the ‘Father of the Ice-Mountains,” the permanent snow- 
fields, and the shimmering-blue glaciers. With a small, light caravan, 
led by Islam Bai, I left Kashgar, in June, and went on horseback to 
Yangi-hissar, a small town, whose amban warned me about swollen 
rivers in the narrow valleys, and, to facilitate my journey, gave me some 
Kirghiz under the chieftancy of Nias Bek, as companions. 

Thus we penetrated the mountains, and were welcomed at the Kip- 
chak Kirghiz villages. ‘These consisted sometimes of yurts, and at other 
times of clay and stone huts. Time and again the dazzling-white dome 
of Mustagh-ata rose above the rest of the earth. The valleys were 


AN ORCHESTRA IN KASHGAR 


WITHiLTELE KAT RGHDZ 125 


wild and picturesque, the rivers foaming and deep. But we got on 
without mishap. Here and there, the villages lay in spreading valleys, 
where the grass was luxuriant, and where wild roses, hawthorns, and 
birches grew. In the village of Pas-rabat, pouring rain overtook us; 
and after this, the rivers were swollen in earnest, the water becoming 
brownish-grey, and roaring dully and heavily in the valleys. 

The hardest part of the road led through the glen of Tengi-tar, the 
Narrow Corridor, hemmed in between steep mountain-walls only a few 
yards apart. The river fills the whole valley-bed, and the traveller to 
Pamir is actually compelled to g — 
ride in the river itself. The aD 

i NY bi f 
water surged among tumbling N\\\\\ \ 57 
rocks. A deafening echo filled iW ‘ 
the narrow gorge. The horses, W\ 
uncertain of their footing, felt W 
their way carefully between the 
large, round blocks. Now and 
then they leapt onto a block and 
set their muscles for a jump to 
the next one, always with the 
luggage-boxes balancing on their 
backs. At the most difficult 
places, two men would alight on — 
conveniently-placed blocks, and 
guide and support the horse on 
either side. 

It was a great relief when the 
narrow, blue strip of sky that 
had hitherto been visible be- 
tween the tops of the grey, DIFFICULT PASSAGE becca an PERPENDICULAR 
granite walls, extended itself 
Over more open and rounded mountains. After leaving the pass of 
Kok-moinak (15,540 feet), we found ourselves again on the ‘Roof 
of the World,” where the beks, in the large, open valley of Tagarma, 
received us courteously. 

The most beautiful prospects of alp and alpine life unfolded before 
us in the clear, pure air. Mustagh-ata shot its tongue-like glaciers 
through its deep and narrow clefts; and from them, crystal-clear brooks 


126 MY LIFE AS AN EXPLORER 


rippled down the slopes, crossing green pastures, where large herds of 
yak and sheep grazed, and on which about eighty yurts had been pitched. 

We continued northward to the plains at Su-bashi, where we were 
met by our friend, Togdasin Bek, who placed one of his best yurts at 
our disposal. For nearly three months thereafter, I stayed with the 
Kirghiz. I lived as they did, rode their horses and yaks, ate their food 
—mutton and sour milk—and became their friend. Later on, they 
often said: ‘‘Now you have become a real Kirghiz.” 

On the eleventh of July, Togdasin Bek prepared a baiga, or tourna- 
ment, on the plains at Su-bashi in my honour. Dressed in their gold- 
trimmed, gaily-coloured, sumptuous cloaks, or khalats, all the beks of the 
region assembled at our tents; and, accompanied by a resplendent retinue 
of forty-two mounted men, I rode to the scene of the wild riot which was 
about to take place. Crowds awaited us there, among them old Khoat, 
a hundred and eleven years of age, and his five sons, all white-bearded 
old men. 

The whole plain was full of riders, eager for the signal that was to 
start the sports. The signal was given. A rider dashed up to us at 
full gallop. He circled before us, directing his horse with his knees, 
for in his left hand he held a live goat, and in his right hand a sharp- 
edged sabre. With a well-directed blow he cut off the goat’s head, and 
the body dangled at his side, writhing and bloody. 

Then he completed the circuit of the arena; and, with eighty horse- 
men at his heels, he approached us again in wild career. ‘The ground 
trembled under the clattering hoofs. They came nearer and nearer, 
now and again disappearing in clouds of dust, until they were quite 
close to us, and in another minute must have crushed us like a devastating 
avalanche. But, when only a few paces away, with sand and earth 
already sprinkling us, they wheeled about; and, casting the goat’s carcass 
at my feet, the leader disappeared into the plain, shrouded in dust. 

In a few seconds, however, they were back; and then the fight for 
the goat’s carcass began. We retreated hastily. The object was to 
reach the carcass from the saddle and ride away with it. It was a most 
fantastic fracas. All of the eighty riders crowded together. Some 
horses reared, others fell. Riders were thrown, and had to find their 
way out of the mélée to avoid being crushed to death. From the edge 
of the circle, other Kirghiz pressed forward, worming their horses in 


Wolo Pi ero Re RG eZ, 127 


among the others, who were already as tight-packed as could be. One 
might have taken them for Huns, pillaging. 

At length, a strong Kirghiz secured the goat and circled with it 
wildly over the plain, the others pursuing him like a pack of hungry 
wolves. And in this way the spectacle was repeated over and over 
again. 

Togdasin Bek became so excited over it, that he flung himself head- 
long into the game. But during its progress, he turned a somersault 
with his horse, and got some Chinese ideographs printed in red on his 
forehead, whereupon he desisted from the sport. 

Afterwards, we were treated to an elaborate dastarkhan of mutton, 
rice, sour milk, and tea; and I distributed prizes, in the form of silver 
coins, to all the winners. Among the victors were Yehim Bai and 
Mollah Islam, two lusty Kirghiz, whom I took into my service. 

As twilight advanced, the hordes of riders went home to their tents, 
and the darkness of a new night fell upon the plains at the foot of 
Mustagh-ata. 


GHA TE Raven ye oe 
My Struggle with the “Father of the Ice-Mountains”’ 


HE task I had set myself was to map out the region around 
Mustagh-ata, the ‘Father of the Ice-Mountains.”” Accom- 
panied by my servants and some Kirghiz friends, I went to 
the shore of Kara-kul, the “Little Black Lake.” A fine 

blanket yurt was placed at my disposal, and our neighbours provided 
us with sour milk, fresh milk, kumiss (fermented mare’s milk), and 
sheep. [he daylight hours were devoted to field-work. In the eve- 
nings, the Kirghiz would come to visit us, and I drew out of them all 
that they knew about their country. Whenever there was a strong 
wind, or pouring rain, I stayed indoors, and made notes, or drew por- 

traits of the Kirghiz. 
One HE the watch- ge which we had brought along from Ferghana 
: disappeared. Later on, during one of 
our excursions near Kara-kul, a yellow- 
ish-white, emaciated Kirghiz dog came 
tous. Islam Bai and the others tried to 
chase him off by throwing stones at him, 
but he always returned. So I let him 
stay. With liberal rations of meat and 
bones, he soon picked up, and became a 
general favourite. We called him Yol- 
dash, or the ‘“‘travelling-companion.”’ 
He kept faithful watch at my tent. 
He was my best friend for ten months, 
and I did not take a step without him. 
He left us under tragic circumstances. 
i camino iave But that is another story, which will be 

told later on. 

The Kirghiz pasture their sheep, yaks, and horses around Mustagh- 
ata. Each family has its fixed summer and winter pastures. Although 


they are Mohammedans, the women do not appear veiled, but expose 
128 


meee tel Re OR) On Bee Be MeO CEN TAIN S?? 129 


their faces freely, and wear high, white, turban-like head-coverings. 
Their lives are bound up with the well-being of their herds. At sunset, 
the sheep are taken to the folds. Half-wild dogs protect them against 
the wolves. The women have to do the heavier work connected with 
the sheep, ewes, and lambs, and they also provide the fodder. The men 
are mostly in the saddle, visiting one another, riding to the fair at Kash- 
gar, and supervising the care of the horses and yaks. Children play 
around the tents. ‘They are often sweet and pretty. We observed one 
of them, an eight-year-old youngster, walking perfectly naked, except 
for his father’s boots and lambskin cap. 

Through fog and mist, we advanced towards the northern slopes of 
Mustagh-ata, where the glacier-tongues pointed downwards, like so 
many fingers, to the Sarik-kol Valley. We had only yaks for riding- 
and pack-animals. It takes a certain amount of patience to ride a yak. 
Although the beast has an iron ring fixed in the cartilage of its nose, to- 
gether with a guide-rope, yet the yak, obstinate and grunting, goes as it 
pleases. 

Having examined the northern glaciers, we moved our camp to the 
western side of the mountain, and made excursions, on foot, along those 
enormous ice-streams which go by the name of Yam-bulak and Kamper- 
kishlak. Brooks of melted ice rippled over the bluish-green ice, clear 
as crystal. Here and there deep clefts yawned in the glacier, and in 
some places large rocks formed beautiful glacier-tables. 

At sunrise, on August 6, I began the ascent of a steep cliff on the 
northern side of the Yam-bulak glacier, with five Kirghiz and seven yaks. 
The weather was glorious. At eight o’clock we were already higher 
than the top of Mont Blanc; and at 16,000 feet, we met the snow-line. 
The snow rapidly increased in depth, and its surface became frozen. 
We advanced slowly. The yaks were stopping continually, to recover 
their wind. Two of them were quite done up, and had to be abandoned, 
to shift for themselves. 

Again we came to the edge of a cliff, with the Yam-bulak blaciels 
at 12,000 feet, directly below us. About a thousand feet higher, Mollah 
Islam and two other Kirghiz dropped down on the snow, fell asleep, and 
were left thus. I went on, with two Kirghiz and two yaks. The yaks 
were plainly discontented at this seemingly useless and stupid climb 
through never-ending snow. 

At 20,160 feet, we had to pause for a long rest. The yaks stood 


130 MY DLIFEVAS (AND EAP TO Ria 


with their tongues hanging out, and their breathing sounded like the 
sawing of wood. I and the Kirghiz were suffering from headache, as 
we sat eating snow. I now realized that if we were to ascend an- 
other one or two thousand feet, it would be necessary to bring pro- 
visions and tents, and prepare to spend the night at this 20,000-foot 
altitude. Determined on repeating the attempt, I returned to camp. 

After further tramps among the glaciers, we finally, on August 11, 
made our second attempt to ascend the mountain, this time along the 
steep slope which rises immediately south of the Chal-tumak glacier. 
Carrying a small blanket-tent, food, and fuel, the yaks and Kirghiz 
struggled until we were up 17,000 feet, where we took a long rest. 

All at once, a deafening roar, which filled the deep ravine with its 
echo for a long time, came from the perpendicular cliff that bounded the 
northern side of the glacier-corridor. The higher reaches of the moun- 
tain, it seems, are covered with a hood of ice, which projects over the 
top of the rocky wall, and, breaking of its own weight, hurtles down to 
the surface of the glacier. Huge blocks of this ice-armour presently 
descended, and, striking the protruding rocks, were converted to powder, 
as white and churning as foaming water. 

Further up, we saw four wild goats, nervous and frightened, fleeing 
across the snow-crust. Shortly before that, we had seen two big, light- 
grey wolves, who were evidently chasing the goats into the permanent 
snow, but who, for want of strength, had not pursued them further. 

The snow, lying two feet deep on the ice-armour, made our ascent 
even harder than before. Mollah Islam led the way with a yak that 
bore two big bundles of a steppe-growth, hard as wood, which the 
Kirghiz call teresken. Suddenly, the yak vanished, as though a trap- 
door had opened under him. We hurried to the spot, and found the 
yak suspended by his right hind leg, his horns, and the bundles of 
teresken. He had stepped through a treacherous snow-bridge that 
spanned a cleft about a yard wide, and beneath him there yawned a black 
abyss. Fortunately, the frightened animal did not move, otherwise he 
would have been lost. ‘The Kirghiz got a rope around his belly, and the 
other yaks, uniting their strength, pulled the wretched beast up. 

Slowly and cautiously we made a second attempt. Another yak 
was nearly engulfed, and one of the Kirghiz escaped a like fate only by 
hanging onto the edge. We came to a crevasse, three or four yards 
wide, and seven yards deep, between steep walls of azure-blue ice. This 


BRATHER OF EFHE-VIECEsMOUNTAINS’’ 131 


we negotiated carefully. The crack extended as far as the eye could 
see, in both directions. It put an absolute stop to all further advance. 
Our altitude was 19,100 feet. 

On my return to the camp, I decided to try the ascent once more, this 
time by way of the slope north of the Yam-bulak glacier, which we had 
climbed twice before. 

We spent one day getting to the 20,160-foot level, at the edge of 
the abyss, which we had previously attained. We had to make up our 


: Sey bie, ¢ woe 
2 Te Fa 
WA AG 
Ph (('s UA H Call if, BS oli Re 
AW yy MK i) 
CE Yi 


t any is 
iGo Mey 


i, 


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Hie 


‘a MS 


ap) 
zs 


7 
A 


ey 
ina 

MAUS 
SAVING A YAK THAT HAD FALLEN INTO A DEEP CREVICE 


minds whether or not to go on; but as the ten yaks we had brought 
along were dead-tired, we decided to spend the night there, and con- 
tinue the climb the following morning. 

The yaks were tied to the few slate-rocks sticking out of the snow; 
and a small yurt was pitched on the precipice, and well stayed with ropes 
to several rocks. ‘The fire inside made the eyes smart, and the air was 
suffocating for lack of a vent. The melting snow made a pool around 
the fire; but after that went out, in the evening, the water froze into a 
cake of ice. I let two sick Kirghiz go down to where the air was less 


132 M. Yoo) DEB oA S&S: AUN Ax Be RE. 


rarefied. We all showed symptoms of mountain-sickness—singing in 
the ears, deafness, a quick pulse, a temperature below normal, and in- 
somnia. 

The sun went down, and its purple light died on the western slopes 
of Mustagh-ata. When the full moon had risen over the crest of the 
rocky wall south of the glacier, I went out into the dark to admire one 
of the most magnificent spectacles I have ever witnessed in Asia. 

The permanent snow-fields on the highest dome of the mountain, 
the firm basin that feeds the glacier, and the highest regions of the 
glacier were bathed in the silver light of the moon; but where the ice- 
stream lay, pitch-dark, in its deep cleft, fathomless shadow prevailed. 
Thin, white clouds floated across the hilly snow-fields, like so many 
mountain-spirits engaged in dancing. Perhaps they were the souls of 
departed Kirghiz, with their guardian angels, passing on, from the 
wear and tear of the earth, to the joys of Paradise; or the fortunate 
beings in the enchanted city of Janaidar, who, in the light of the full 
moon, were dancing around about the “Father of the Ice-Mountains.”’ 

We were almost as high as the top of Chimborazo or Mt. McKinley, 
and higher than Kilimanjaro, Mont Blanc, and all the mountain-peaks 
of at least four continents. Only the highest peaks of Asia and the 
Andes rose higher than our present elevation. The top of Mt. Everest, 
the highest mountain in the world, extended 8,880 feet higher. Yet I 
believe that as regards wild and fantastic beauty, the picture that un- 
folded itself about me surpassed anything else that could be presented 
to man on this earth. I felt as if I were standing on the edge of the 
immeasurable space where mysterious worlds revolve forever and ever. 
Only a step separated me from the stars. I could touch the moon with 
my hand; and under my feet I felt the globe of the earth, a slave to the 
unyielding laws of gravitation, continuing to revolve, in its orbit, through 
the night of universal space. 3 | 

Sharply-defined shadows of the tent and the yaks fell across the 
snow. The beasts, tied to the rocks, stood silent, but for an occasional 
creaking sound, as they rubbed the teeth of the lower jaw against the 
cartilage of the upper; and sometimes the snow crunched beneath their 
hoofs, as they changed their position. Their breathing was inaudible, 
yet visible in the shape of white clouds of vapour issuing from their 
nostrils. 

The Kirghiz’s camp-fire, between two large rocks, had gone out; and 


Pr Aa EORS eO Re eR Bi Re MON TANS? 433 


now and then the hardy, weather-beaten mountaineers grumbled, as they 
lay huddled up, face down, their foreheads touching the snow. 

I tried in vain to go to sleep in the small tent. The cold was not 
severe (only 10°), but my fur coat felt as heavy as lead. Suffering 
from a shortness of breath, I rose time and again to get air. 

Before dawn, we heard a roar, which gradually increased in volume; 
and by morning, a storm enveloped our camp with impenetrable clouds 
of whirling snow. We waited hour after hour. No one wanted to 
eat, and everyone had a headache. I hoped that the gale would subside, 
so that we might proceed to the summit. It only increased in violence, 
however, and toward noon I realized the hopelessness of our situation. 
Wishing to try the mettle of the Kirghiz, I ordered them to load the 
yaks and continue our climb through the storm. Every one of them 
obeyed. But when [ said that we would have to return to our camp 
below, they were glad and grateful. 

With two men I began the descent. I rode a big black yak, strong 
as an elephant. I left him to 
his own devices, for it was use- 
less to try to guide him. I could 
not see my hand before my face, 
on account of the whirling, whip- 
ping snow. The yak waded, 
plunged, jumped, and slid down- 
ward through the snow, diving 
like a dolphin in the drifts. I 
had to press my knees hard, or 
I would have been thrown from 
the saddle by the yak’s sudden 
and spasmodic jerks. At times, 
I lay back to back with the yak, 
only to feel, a moment later, the | 
tips of his horns in my stomach. | 
But finally bi left the Bs eae j HURRIED RETREAT IN A SNOW-STORM DOWN THE 
clouds behind, and reached the REE TEN ys Te ea 
camp, which was on a level with 
the top of Mt. Whitney, in the Sierra Nevada. 

Thus ended our struggle with the ‘Father of the Ice-Mountains.” 
I had had my fill of this mountain, and decided to pay a short visit to 


134 MY  ETFE CAS AN VE APE ORE 


Pamirsky Post. But the Russian frontier would have to be crossed 
without arousing the suspicions of the Chinese; for they might take 
alarm, and refuse to let me return to their district. All my baggage 
was put away in a Kirghiz yurt, in a remote region; and, with two 
companions, I departed in the middle of the night, threading inaccessible, 
secret paths towards the Russian frontier. Distant Kirghiz tent-villages 
were visible in the moonlight, but their dogs kept quiet, and in a whirl 
of snow we safely crossed the Mus-kurau Pass into Russian territory. 

It was a long and trying ride. Yoldash, our dog, got sore hind paws, 
and we had to make socks for him. He felt very much embarrassed 
in these garments. He tried to walk in a squatting posture, with his 
hind legs in the air. Finding that he was falling behind, he elected to 
run on three legs, keeping the ee and the left stocking alternately 
raised in the air. 

With Captain Saitseff and two other officers, I traversed a great 
part of Pamir, eventually pitching my tent on the shores of Yeshil-kul, 
a lovely alpine lake. And from there I returned quietly and unnoticed 
to Chinese territory. During my absence, the Chinese had missed me 
and had instituted a search. The Kirghiz who concealed my baggage 
would have got himself into trouble, if he had been found out. To free 
himself of suspicion, he had moved my boxes up to a stone-pile, hiding 
them between two rocks. And so, on September 30, when my yurt had 
again been pitched on the eastern shore of the Kara-kul, no one dreamt 
that I had spent twelve, days on Russian territory. 

One task still remained to be done at the charming little lake, before 
I returned to Kashgar, my headquarters. I wanted to take soundings 
of the lake. But there was not the slightest sign of a boat. None of 
the Kirghiz had seen a boat, or knew what such a thing looked like. 
So I made a small model, of wood and paper, and the work of con- 
struction began at the “‘shipyard,”’ under the direction of Islam Bai. 

A horse’s hide and a lamb’s skin were sewed together and stretched 
over a framework of tent-ribs. Oars and a mast were made from other 
ribs, and a spade served for rudder. It was a wonderful boat, dented 
and jagged like a discarded sardine-tin! Inflated goatskins were fastened 
to port and starboard, and also at the stern, to steady the craft. This 
strange turnout resembled some prehistoric animal, sitting on its eggs. 
One of the Kirghiz said he never thought that a boat would look like 


pn ey ke PANE OWRD eS ee OiUh NT ACEN S "1135 


that, and Togdasin Bek remarked: “You will surely drown, if you go 
out on the water in this thing. Better wait till the lake freezes.”’ 

But the boat carried me all right, and the Kirghiz Turdu soon 
learned how to row. On the occasion of its launching, the nomads 
assembled on the shore, with their wives and families, and watched the 
proceeding in silence. They probably thought that I had gone crazy, 
and were only waiting to see me disappear in the clear, crystal depths. 

Soundings were made in several directions, and one day we were 


OUR “BOAT” ON THE LITTLE KARA-KUL, EASTERN PAMIR 


destined to cover the longest route of all, that from south to north. 
We rowed and sailed out from the south shore, but had not gone far, 
when a south wind of hurricane force sprang up. We furled our sail. 
The waves mounted higher and higher, the foam hissed on their crests, 
and the boat jumped about like a refractory yak. 

I sat steering with the spade. Suddenly the stern went down, and 
a wave surged over me, filling half the boat. One of the inflated goat- 
skins had got loose, and was floating away over the waves like a wild 
duck. Every new wave gave us a new cold shower. ‘urdu bailed for 
dear life, and I tried to thwart the assaulting waves with the spade. 
The boat sank deeper and deeper, and there was a whistling and peeping 


136 MY tVILFEVAS JANE APT ORR 


sound from the starboard goatskins, as the air was squeezed out of 
them. We listed dangerously. Unplumbed depths yawned beneath us. 
Would we keep afloat till we reached land? Or would Togdasin Bek 
prove that he had been right? The Kirghiz, both mounted and on 
foot, assembled on the nearest shore to see us drown; but we finally 
made shallow water, and landed, soaked through and through. 

On another occasion—it was at twilight and we were but a few 
hundred feet from the north shore—a violent north wind sprang up 
and sent us out over the lake. Night came on; but fortunately there 
wasamoon. The wind died down after a while. Islam Bai had lighted 
a fire on shore, which served us asa beacon. The greatest depth sounded 
was only seventy-nine feet. 

Time and again, I was forced by blizzards and hail-showers to stay 
indoors. At such times, the Kirghiz would visit me; and I was never 
bored. They told me of their adventures and experiences; and some- 
times they told me their troubles also. A young Kirghiz who had fallen 
in love with the beautiful Nevra Khan, but who was not able to pay 
the requisite kalim, or dowry, to her father, came to my tent and tried 
to borrow the needed sum. But my purse was too slender for such an 
undertaking. , 

A rumour had already spread all over Pamir that a European had 
arrived, had leaped up Mustagh-ata like a chamois, and had flown across 
the lake like a wild goose. This legend, appropriately elaborated and 
improved upon, probably survives to this day. 

I had found life among the Kirghiz congenial; and when I left, 
there was emotion in their voices as they bade me farewell. Had I not 
lived with them, and become their friend? ‘Their life was care-free, 
but not joyous. They fought a bitter fight against a cold and parsi- 
monious Nature. And when they completed their span of life, they 
would be carried to their tombs in the valley where a holy man slumbered 
beneath a simple, white cupola. 

I returned to Kashgar by a new route, and there summed up my 
findings and worked over my notes. | 

On November 6, we were seated around the bubbling samovar on 
the dining-room table, at Consul Petrovsky’s. Breathless and dusty, a 
Cossack courier entered, and delivered a telegram to the Consul. It 
contained only the brief statement that Alexander III had died. Every- 
one rose, and the Russians crossed themselves, evidently deeply moved. 


Pe Loe OOK dE nae CoB es MOUNT ACEN §*): -13Z 


Christmas came around again. I spent it with Mr. Macartney, 
Father Hendricks, and my compatriot, Héglund, a missionary, who, 
shortly before, had arrived at Kashgar, with his family. Father Hen- 
dricks left at midnight, in order to celebrate Christmas mass in his little 
room, with the wine-barrels and the crucifix. I pitied him, as he made his 
way through the dark, sleeping town, alone, ever and unchangingly alone. 


Oe 


bel AFGHANIS I 


BOKHARA AND RUSSIAN TURKISTAN 


CPPAE TR vais 
I Approach the Desert 


N February 17, 1895, I left Kashgar, and began a journey 
() which proved to be one of the most difficult I ever undertook 
in Asia. 

We had two arabas, or carts with two high wheels, drawn 
by four horses, one of them between the shafts, and the other three in 
front, harnessed with ropes. Each team was driven by an arabakesh, 
or driver. The carts had arched roofs made of rush-mats. I drove in 
the first one, with part of the luggage, and Islam Bai, with the heavy 
boxes, in the other. We had two dogs, Yoldash, from Pamir, and 
Hamra, from Kashgar. They were tied to Islam Bai’s cart. 

Squeaking heavily, and stirring up big clouds of yellow dust, our 
arabas rolled out through Kum-darvaseh, the “Sand Gate’ of Kashgar. 
In Yangi-shahr, the Chinese quarter, we had a little adventure. A 
Chinese soldier stopped us, and declared that Hamra was his dog. 
When he found that we would not release the dog, he lay down on the 
ground, right in front of a wheel, shrieking and behaving like a madman. 
A big crowd gathered around us. Finally I made this declaration: 
“We will let the dog loose. If he goes with you, he is yours. If he 
goes with us, he is ours.” 

The wheels had made only a few revolutions, when Hamra came 
dashing like an arrow in our direction; and I could hear how the crowd 
behind laughed mockingly at the soldier. 

Our way went eastward, close to the Kashgar-daria. Here and 
there we drove across frozen marshes. The wheels of my cart broke 
through the ice once up to the axle, and the team-leaders fell. This 
happened at night. So we made a big fire, unloaded the baggage, 
hitched the horses to the rear of the cart, and pulled it out; after which 
we tried another place. 

In the villages, where we spent our nights, the drivers slept in the 


carts, so as to protect the baggage against thieves. 
138 


te PPR OA Ci aD BS ie Rep 139 


Passing through poplar-forests and tamarisk-steppes, we reached the 
small town of Maral-bashi. 

We had been regaled, at every stopping-place, with tales of the 
Desert of Takla-makan, our present objective. One legend told of an 
ancient town, Takla-makan, that had been buried under the sand in the 
middle of the desert. Among the ruins of its towers, walls, and houses, 
gold ingots and lumps of silver lay exposed. But if a caravan went 
there, and loaded its camels with gold, the drivers would become 
bewitched, and would walk round and round in a circle, till they col- 
lapsed. ‘They would think they were going in a straight line, but actually 
they would be moving in a circle all the time. Only by throwing away 
the gold could they break the enchantment and be saved. 

It was said that a man went alone to the old city, and loaded himself 
down with as much gold as he could carry. Countless wild-cats attacked 
him. He threw the gold away, and lo, the cats vanished, leaving not 
a single trace. 

An old man told me that when a traveller is lost in the desert, he 
hears voices calling his name. He becomes bewitched, follows the 
voices, and is lured deeper and deeper into the desert, only to expire 
from thirst. 

This is exactly the same story that Marco Polo told, six hundred 
and fifty years ago, when he travelled along the edge of the desert of 
Lop, situated further east. In the famous account of his travels, he 
says: 

‘There is a marvellous thing related of this Desert, which is, that 
when travellers are on the move by night, and one of them chances to 
lag behind or to fall asleep or the like, when he tries to gain his company 
again he will hear spirits talking, and will suppose them to be his 
comrades. Sometimes the spirits will call him by name; and thus shall 
a traveller ofttimes be led astray so that he never finds his party. And 
in this way many have perished. Even in the daytime one hears those 
spirits talking, and sometimes you shall hear the sound of a variety of 
musical instruments, and still more commonly the sound of drums.” 

As we were on our way to the large Desert of Takla-makan, the 
temptation to penetrate to its interior increased day by day, and I 
could not resist its mysterious lure. In every village where we halted, 
I pumped the natives for everything they knew of the desert. A child 


140 MY oR PRE SAS \ AWN @ Bo Re OR ng 


could not have listened more attentively to a fairy-tale than I did to 
the stories of these simple, superstitious peasants. The ridges of the 
yellow sand-dunes, resembling sea-waves, were already visible here and 
there through the forest. At whatever price, I was determined to break 
through them. 

We left the Kashgar-daria and turned southwest, along the bank 
of Yarkand-daria, the main river. Our road led alternately through 
fields of dense reed, where there were boars in large numbers, and 
through forests. And on March 19, we pitched camp in the village of 
Merket, near the right river-bank. This became our headquarters for 
a‘ time, 

While I went off on short excursions in the district, Islam Bai made 
all the purchases needed for our approaching journey. The most difficult 
thing was to find suitable camels. Impatiently, I awaited the return of 
my caravan-leader. One week passed, then another, and still another. 
Spring made its appearance at the edge of the desert. The warmer it 
got, the more dangerous a desert-journey became. 

I had nothing to complain of otherwise. I lived in the pleasant home 
of Togda Khoja Bek, the chief of the village. He was clothed with 
judicial authority, and I witnessed the daily administration of justice in 
his court. One day, an adulteress was brought before him. She was 
found guilty, and was sentenced to have her face painted black, and to 

ride backwards through the ba- 
zaar, on a jackass, with her 
hands tied behind her back. 
On another occasion, he in- 
terrogated a woman who had 
been terribly beaten. She ac- 
cused her husband of having at- 
tacked her with a razor. When 
the man denied this, his hands 
were tied behind his back, a rope 
was fastened around his wrists, 
and he was thus hoisted up into 
a tree. He thereupon confessed, 
and received a flogging. Later 
on, he declared that his wife had beaten him, too; but he was convicted 
of lying, and so he got another flogging. 


CRIMINALS FORCED TO TELL THE TRUTH 


dc AP POPAR OV ALG ig Dirks) Den S ERE 141 


It was evident that the religion of the Prophet was held in venera- 
tion; for those persons who, in the fasting-month of Ramadan, had 
partaken of food while the sun was up, were painted black, and led by 
a rope, like wild animals, through the bazaar, to be ee and scoffed 
at by the crowd. 

I suffered from a sore throat for a couple of days, and Togda Khoja 
came and asked me to let him cure me, with the assistance of the village 
exorcist (peri-bakshi). ‘With pleasure!’ I answered. I thought it 
might be amusing to see how they went about the chasing-off of the evil 
spirits that possessed my body. Three tall, bearded men entered my 
room, seated themselves on the floor, and, with fingers, fists, and palms, 
began beating the drums they held before them, the calfskins on which 
were stretched so tight that they resembled sheets of metal. They 
beat the drums with amazing strength, and in unison, so that it sounded 
like one drum; and all the while they grew more excited from the 
deafening roar, and the rhythm and constant crescendo. ‘They rose, 
danced, threw the three drums in the air simultaneously, and caught them 
again, all together, with a united snap of their fingers on the drumhead. 
They kept this up for an hour. When the exorcism was over, I really 
felt much better; but all the following day I was half deaf. 

Islam Bai returned on April 8. He had bought four iron tanks 
and six goatskins, to carry the water; sesame-oil to nourish the camels 
in the desert; various provisions, such as flour, honey, dried vegetables, 
macaroni, etc.; spades and kitchen-utensils; and many other things indis- 
pensable for a caravan. Most important of all, he had bought eight 
splendid camels, at thirty-five dollars apiece. ‘They were all males. 
All but one were Bactrian, or two-humped camels. We named them, 
in Jaggatai Turki, the language of the country, as follows: ‘The 
White,” “Boghra” (the Stallion), ‘“One-Hump,” “Old Man,” “Big 
Blackie,” “Little Blackie,’ “Big Fawnie,” and “Little Fawnie.”’ 

The big bronze bells which three of the camels bore round their 
necks, clanged as they were led into Togda Khoja’s court, where Yoldash, 
never having seen camels before, barked himself hoarse with rage at 
their intrusion. 

Besides Islam Bai, I hired three new men, to go with me to the 
interior of the desert. ‘They were Mohammed Shah, an old, white- 
bearded camel-driver, whose wife and children lived in Yarkand; Kasim, 
black-bearded, powerful, and dutiful, accustomed to handling camels; 


142 MY SGIEE OAS (AN GE AGP OR 


and lastly a man who lived in Merket, also named Kasim, but whom 
we called Yolchi, or “‘the guide,” because he asserted that he was well 
acquainted with the desert, and could find his way everywhere. At the 
last moment, our provisions were augmented by two bags of freshly- 
baked bread, three sheep, ten hens, and a rooster to enliven the quiet 
of our camps in the eternal sand. The iron tanks and the goatskins were 
filled with 455 litres of water, designed to last us for twenty-five days. 

The portion of the large sand-desert that I was about to traverse 
was triangle-shaped. It was bounded on the west by Yarkand-daria, 
on the east by Khotan-daria (a tributary of the Yarkand), and on the 
south by the Kuen-lun Mountains. Our route ran, roughly, from west 
to east; and as Khotan-daria flows from south to north, we would sooner 
or later strike this river, provided we did not die of thirst. Ten years 
before, in 1885, Carey and Dalgleish, two Englishmen, and Przhevalsky, - 
the Russian, had travelled through the valley of Khotan-daria. The 
location of the river was therefore known. On its western shore, they 
had observed a quite small mountain-range, called Masar-tagh, or the 
‘“‘Mountain of the Saint’s Tomb.” Another small mountain, situated 
in the angle between Kashgar-daria and Yarkand-daria, and which I had 
visited on my way to Merket, was also known as Masar-tagh, from 
which I surmised that the two mountains formed the extreme wings of 
one and the same range, extending through the entire desert, and running 
from northwest to southeast. If this was so, we ought to find earth 
free of sand at its foot, and, perhaps, traces of a civilization of bygone 
millenniums. The distance from Merket to Khotan-daria was 175 
miles; but it was made much longer for us by the innumerable bends 
our route made between the sand-dunes. I hoped to cross the 
desert in less than a month, and move towards the cool heights of north- 
ern Tibet during the warm summer months. We therefore took fur 
coats, blankets, and winter clothes. Our arsenal consisted of three 
rifles, six revolvers, and two heavy ammunition-boxes. [I had three 
cameras, together with a thousand glass and celluloid plates, the usual 
astronomical and meteorological instruments, and finally, some scientific 
books and a Bible. | 

On April ro, in the morning, our eight stately camels and their 
leaders marched out of Merket. The camels were heavily laden, and 
the bronze bells tolled solemnly, as if for a funeral. ‘The villagers 
had assembled on the roofs and in the streets. They all looked grave. 


Pour? ROA C Head th DES ik RL 143 


We heard an old man say, “They will never come back.” Another 
added, “Their camels are too heavily laden.” Two Hindu money- 
changers threw some copper coins over my head, and shouted, “Happy 
journey!” About one hundred mounted men accompanied us a short 
distance. 7 

The camels proceeded in two divisions, the first one led by Kasim, 
the second by Mohammed Shah. I rode Boghra, the first camel in the 
second division, and from my elevated place I had a splendid view of 
the flat land. 

The camels were fat and rested, and consequently in high spirits, 
as they started out on their march. First, two of the younger ones, 
then another pair broke loose, and began a lumbering gallop around 
the steppe, so that their burdens fell to the ground. One of the 
ammunition-boxes dangled at a camel’s flank. After the refractory 
ones had been rounded up, each camel was led separately by a man 
from Merket. 

We pitched our first camp in a ravine, in the midst of dunes and 
steppe. All the animals were set loose. A fire was made and supper 
was prepared. It consisted of mutton and rice-pudding. I ate the same 
food as the men. My tent was furnished with a rug, a camp-bed, and 
two boxes, containing instruments and such things as were in constant 
use. The men from Merket had gone home. 

The next day, we came upon such high dunes, that two of the camels 
slipped and had to be reloaded. But they soon accustomed themselves 
to the soft, undulating, sandy ground, and stepped steadily and safely. 
It seemed wise to avoid the deep sand a few days longer, so we moved 
along the edge toward the northeast. At every camp, we dug a well, 
and found water at a depth of from three to five feet. It was salty, 
but not too salty for the camels. We therefore emptied most of the 
contents of the iron tanks. We intended to refill them before heading 
definitely into the desert. On the fourteenth of April, we missed the 
dogs for quite a while; and when they returned, they were wet up to 
their bellies. We found the sweet-water pool where they had drunk, 
and camped that night at its edge. 

Poplars grew here and there, and vast reed-fields extended between 
waste stretches of desert-sand. We generally covered fifteen or sixteen 
miles a day. Sounds like whistling or soughing were heard in the dense 


144 MY oS De ASS SINS oe ee ee 


reeds, as the camels pushed their way through the undergrowth. On 
April 17, we glimpsed occasional hills in the northeast. ‘They were the 
northern Masar-tagh. We had not known that they extended so far 
toward the desert; for no one had ever been there before. 

The following day, we came quite unexpectedly upon a sweet-water 
lake, the shore of which we followed eastwards. We went through a 
truly primeval forest, so dense that we were frequently forced to retreat 
and make a detour. At times we were unable to proceed without using 
our axes. I dismounted, so as not to be swept from Boghra’s back by 
the overhanging branches. 

On the nineteenth, we camped under some leafy poplars, on the 
shore of yet another lake, and stayed there more than a day. A few 
days later, when we were in the sterile desert, we looked back, in 
imagination, on this encampment as on an earthly paradise. ‘The 
mountain shimmered in violet tints, the lake was ultramarine, the poplars 
a vernal green, and the reeds and sand yellow. One of our sheep had 
already been slaughtered; and now the second one was sacrificed. The 
third one we were going to conserve. 

On the twenty-first of April, our track lay between two isolated 
mountains and along the western shore of a long lake. We went around 
the southern end of this lake, and camped on its eastern shore. No 
more mountains were discernible in the southeast. Our camp lay at the 
southern point of a ridge which was like the outermost cape on a sea- 
coast. On April 22, which was devoted to rest, I walked up on this 
mountain. ‘To the east, south, and southwest, nothing was to be seen 
but sterile, yellow sand-dunes. The: desert-sea yawned before us. 

Up to this evening, we had a whole lake of water right outside our 
tents. The men, the camels, and the other animals could drink their fill. 
Reeds grew abundantly on the banks; so the camels and the surviving 
sheep could graze without stint. Perhaps the animals, too, dreamt of 
this camp, during the nights that followed, as a blessed and happy spot. 
Yolchi, the guide, who was in disfavour with the other men, and kept 
to himself most of the time, only crawling up to the fire, to revive its 
embers, when the others had gone to sleep, now declared that it was 
but a four days’ journey eastwards to Khotan-daria, and that we would 
be able to strike water even before reaching the river. But I told the 
men to take water for ten days, as the distance might be greater than 


PAP PR OAC Tee ae as DRT 145 


the guide said. If the tanks were half filled, we would be able to 
water the camels twice in the interior of the desert. The tanks were 
put in wooden frames, and protected from direct exposure to the sun 
by bundles of reeds. To the sound of the splashing water, as the men 
poured it into the tanks, I fell asleep, on the shore of this last lake. 


CHAPTER XIX 
The Sand-Sea 


and we started off towards the southeast. I wanted to satisfy 
myself that our last mountain did not extend into the desert. 

In two hours, we had passed the wisps of reeds, and the 
sterile, sandy dunes grew higher. Another hour, and they were sixty 
feet high; and presently they rose to eighty and ninety feet. Plains of 
level, dry, hard clay disclosed themselves here and there between the 
dunes. From this solid ground, the camels looked quite small, as they 
trod the ridge of the nearest dune. We zigzagged and turned in all 
directions, to avoid the difficult crests of the dunes and remain as nearly 
as possible on one level. 

After a while, we saw the last tamarisks, and passed the last spots 
of level, clay soil. There was nothing now but fine yellow sand. As far 
as the eye could reach, only high dunes, quite bare of vegetation, were 
visible. Strange, that I was not terrified at this sight, and that it 
did not make me halt! It should have occurred to me that the season 
was too far advanced, and that the risk was too great! If ill-luck 
prevailed, I might lose everything. But I did not hesitate for a moment. 
I had determined to conquer the desert. No matter how many weary 
steps I might have to take to Khotan-daria, I would not retrace a single 
step of my trail. I was swept away by the irresistible desiderium incog- 
niti, which breaks down all obstacles, and refuses to recognize the 
impossible. 7 

Yet here I already observed how my men were labouring with their 
spades, to make the difficult places easier for the camels. 

After sixteen miles, marching, we camped, at dusk, on a small spot 
of even clay-ground, entirely surrounded by high sand-dunes. Here 
grew the last two tamarisks, which the camels stripped of their bark 
in a few bites. Later on, we had to tie the camels, in order to prevent 
them from fleeing back to the lake, at night. We dug for water; but 


as the sandy clay proved to be dry as tinder, we gave up the attempt. 
146 


EE =: in the morning of April 23, the camels were reloaded, 


THE SAND-SEA 147 


Hamra was missing. We went up on the dunes and whistled, but 
the dog never came back. Plainly, he had been wiser than we, and had 
returned over the caravan-trail. Yoldash, however, had to pay for 
his fidelity with his life. 

After midnight, a strong westerly wind rose over the desert; and, 
when we started to load the camels at dawn, sand-plumes were fluttering 
from every dune-crest, and a yellow-red haze floated above the horizon. 
Later on, we were to become acquainted with the eastern gales, which 
carried clouds of fine dust, and turned day into night. 

We kept to the southeast; but after we had made sure that Masar- 
tagh did not stretch out in that direction, I decided to change our course 
to due east. ‘This direction promised the shortest distance to Khotan- 
daria. Islam Bai led the procession, compass in hand. Seeing him 
climb high, pyramid-like dunes, we gathered that he was looking for 
a practicable path for the camels. One camel fell, at the top of a dune, 
in so awkward a posture, that he could not get up on all-fours again, 
until we had rolled him down sixty feet to more solid sand. At noon, 
we made a halt, and everyone got a drink, even Yoldash and the last 
sheep. The temperature of the water was more than 86°. 

The camels had eaten the reeds which served to upholster the tanks. 
At the evening camp, not a trace of vegetable or animal life was to be 
seen, not a wind-driven leaf, not a moth. We gave the camels each a 
few mouthfuls of vegetable-oil, mornings and evenings. 

On April 25, we were waked by a northeast wind and flying dust. 
Colours faded, and distances and dimensions became distorted. A 
nearby dune took on the appearance of a remote, high mountain. 

When the tanks came to be reloaded on their three bearers, the 
sound of the splashing water was such that IJ examined the supply. To 
my surprise, I discovered that it was sufficient for only two days. I 
questioned the men, and reminded them of my order to bring water 
for ten days. Yolchi, the guide, answered that we were within two 
days of Khotan-daria. I dared not scold them, for I myself should have 
watched how much water was taken from the lake. We had travelled 
only two days, and it would have been wise to retrace our steps. The 
caravan would have been saved, and no life would have been lost. But 
I could not bring myself to go back, and I reposed undue confidence 
in the guide. In the presence of all, I charged Islam Bai with respon- 


148 MOY oO LP BEB A'S) AN 5 Be ee DOR ra i. 


sibility for the water-supply. The water-rations were reduced for the 
men, and the camels had to go without a single drop. 

From that moment, I, as well as my men, went on foot. Entire 
ranges, plateaus, and stretches of sand extended in all directions. 

The “Old Man” became tired, and he had to be led along minus 
his burden. During one of the halts, he got a mouthful of water, and 
an armful of hay, taken from his own pack-saddle. The dunes were 
still sixty feet high. A heavy and ominous mood prevailed throughout 
the caravan. Conversations had ceased. There were no.sounds but 
the soughing of the wind, the tired breathing of the camels, and the 
funeral tolling of the bronze bells. 

“A raven!” Islam exclaimed. The black bird of death circled over 
the caravan a few times, alighted several times on a dune-ridge, and 
disappeared in the haze. We were encouraged by the thought that he 
must have come from woods and waters in the east. 

Presently ‘“‘Big Blackie” also tired, and so we were obliged to pitch 
camp. All the hay in the “Old Man’s” pack-saddle was distributed 
among the camels. [ ate only tea, bread, and some tinned food; the 
men, tea, bread, and talkan (roasted barley-flour). There was no more 
fuel; so we sacrificed a wooden box, in order to make the tea. Two 
gnats were the only sign of life. But perhaps they had come with the 
caravan. 

On April 26, I departed alone, at dawn. I held the compass in my 
hand, and counted my steps. Every hundred represented a gain, every 
thousand increased my hope for salvation. The day grew warm. The 
silence was deeper than in a graveyard. Only the headstones were 
wanting. The sand-ridges now mounted to a height of one hundred 
and fifty feet. “The exhausted camels had to get over them all. Our 
situation was desperate. At noon, the sun was like a glowing oven. 
I myself was dead-tired. JI had to rest for a while. But no! First 
another thousand steps, and then rest! 

Worn out by tramping in the soft sand, and overcome with fatigue, 
I threw myself on my back on a dune-crest, and pulled my white cap 
over my face. Rest was sweet. I dozed off, and dreamt that I was 
camping on the shore of a lake. I heard the wind murmur in the trees, 
and the waves sing, as they broke against the shore. But suddenly I 
was awakened to the horrid reality by the cruel tinkling of the bronze 
bells. I sat up. There came the funeral-procession! There was a 


THE SAND-SEA 149 


dying look in the camels’ eyes. Their gaze was indolent and resigned. 
They breathed heavily and measuredly, and their breath gave forth a 
nasty stench. 

There were only six of them now, and they were led by Islam and 
Kasim. The ‘Old Man” and “Big Blackie” had been left behind. 
Mohammed Shah and the guide stayed with them. 

We camped on a small spot of hard clay-ground, not larger than 
the deck of a brig. I gave up pitching my tent. We slept under the 
open sky, all of us. ‘The nights were still cold. We were always in 
higher spirits when settling down for the night, than in the daytime; 
for then came rest, the distribution of water, and the evening coolness 
after the heat of the day. 

The two played-out camels were led to the camp that evening. At 
six o’clock, I said to the men: “Let us dig for water.”’ Everyone was 
inspirited by this. Kasim took a spade, and straightway began to dig. 
Only Yolchi, the guide, made fun of the others, saying that water might 
be struck here at thirty fathoms. ‘They asked him where the river was 
which he had said we would reach in four days. He was put to shame 
further, when, at a depth of three feet, the sandy ground became moist. 

The tension grew indescribably. We worked, all five of us, as 
though for our lives. The wall of sand thrown up around the well grew 
in height. The sand had to be hauled up in a bucket. At a depth of 
four and a half feet, the temperature of the sand was 55°, as compared 
to 84° in the air. The water in the tanks was warmed by the sun to 
85°. We placed an iron jug, filled with water, in the cold sand, and 
drank recklessly ; for soon we were going to be able to fill the tanks again 
to the brim. 

The further down we went, the moister the sand grew. We could 
now squeeze it into balls that did not crumble. As each digger wearied, 
he was replaced by a fresh one. The upper part of our bodies was bare, 
and we perspired freely. Now and then we lay down on the cool, moist 
sand to cool our fevered blood. The camels, Yoldash, and the sheep 
waited impatiently around the well. They knew that their thirst would 
eventually be quenched. 

It was pitch-dark; so we placed a couple of candle-ends in small 
niches in the sides of the well. 

How far down might the water be? If we had to dig all night, 
and all the next day, we were determined to find water! We worked 


150 MY DTP ER AS CAN (Rox ee DOR bik 


with the determination of despair. I sat watching Kasim, who, illumi- 
nated from above by the candles, looked fantastic at the bottom of the 
well, ten feet down. I was waiting to see the reflection thrown back 
by the first drops of water! 

Suddenly Kasim stopped abruptly in his work. The spade slid from 
his hands. With a half-choked cry he collapsed at the bottom of the 
well. Fearing that he had had a stroke, I shouted down to him: “What 
has happened ?” 

“The sand is dry,’ he answered; and it sounded like a voice from 
the grave, like the death-knell of our unfortunate caravan. 

The sand was as dry as tinder. We had exhausted our strength in 
vain. We had used up nearly our whole meagre supply of water, and 
had worked up a violent perspiration, all for nothing. Without a word, 
the men threw themselves on the ground, hoping to forget the sorrows 
of the day insleep. I talked with Islam for a while, and did not conceal 
the danger of our situation. Yet Khotan-daria could not be far away. 
We had to see the undertaking through. We had water for one day 
more. It would have to do for three days. That meant two cups a 
day per man, one bowl for Yoldash, and one for the sheep. The camels 
had not been watered for three days. They would not get another 
drop. Our entire supply was less than a tenth of what a camel would 
need to drink its fill. 

As I rolled myself in a blanket, and lay down on my rug, the camels 
were still lying at the well, waiting in vain for water, patient and 
resigned, as always. 

Having discarded such superfluous belongings as tent-rugs, tent- 
cot, stove, etc., we set out early on the twenty-seventh of April. I went 
on foot, in advance. The dunes were now only thirty feet high. My 
hopes rose. But again the dunes mounted to double and treble size, 
and again our situation seemed hopeless. 

The sky was covered with thin clouds, and the wlcitiie heat of the 
sun was slightly moderated thereby. After four hours’ walking, I 
waited for the caravan to catch up. The camels were still game. We 
saw two wild geese fly towards the northwest. ‘They roused our hopes. 
And yet, what were one or two hundred miles to a wild goose? 

Worn out by fatigue and abstention from water, I mounted Boghra. 
I felt the camel’s legs tremble weakly; so I jumped down again, and 
walked on with tottering steps. 


DE (SiON D- SAD}: 151 


Yoldash always kept close to the tank in which our little supply of 
water still swished about. During one of our innumerable halts, the 
faithful dog came up to me, wagged his tail, whined, and looked at me | 
fixedly, as if asking if all hope was gone. I pointed toward the east, 
shouting, ‘“‘Water, water!’ The dog ran a few steps in the direction 
indicated, but came right back, disappointed. 

The height of the dunes was now one hundred and eighty feet. 
From the highest crest, I searched the horizon with a field-glass. 


SOME OF OUR CAMELS GOING DOWN A SAND DUNE AT SUNSET 


Nothing was to be seen but high, shifting dunes. A sea of yellow sand, 
without the slightest trace of a shore. Countless dune-waves rose all 
the way to the eastern horizon, where the sand disappeared in the haze 
of distance. We had to get over them all, and over those beyond the 
horizon! Impossible! We had not the strength! Both men and 
animals grew weaker with every day that passed. 

The “Old Man” and “Big Blackie’ were not able to follow us to 
that evening’s camp. Mohammed Shah and the guide, who had been 
leading them, came to the camp alone. The former told us that the 
“Old Man” had lain down, his legs and head stretched out on the sand, 
while ‘‘Big Blackie” had stood erect, with trembling legs, unable to take 
another step. When his six comrades disappeared among the dunes, 
he had sent a long, wondering glance after them. And then the men 


152 MOY (LLRs AS oN  CRe LORE IR 


had abandoned the two dying camels. A couple of empty water-tanks 
were abandoned at the same time. 

I thought of those two camels, with horror, as I lay awake at night. 
First, they had merely enjoyed the rest. Then the night had come, with 
its coolness. ‘They would be expecting the men to return to fetch them. 
The blood flowing in their veins grew thicker and thicker. The “Old 
Man” probably died first. Then “Big Blackie’ was alone. Finally, 
he too died, in the majestic stillness of the desert; and in due time the 
shifting sand-hillocks would bury the remains of the two martyrs. 

Steel-blue, rain-filled clouds appeared in the west before sunset. 
Our hopes revived again. The clouds expanded and approached, We 


HOLDING UP THE TENT TO GET A FEW DROPS OF RAIN WATER 


kept the last two empty tanks, placed all the bowls and jugs on the sand, 
and spread the tent-covering on the surface of the dune. It grew dark! 
We took the tent-covering by the corners, and stood ready to collect 
Life, the rescue which was to come from the sky. But when close upon 
us, the clouds thinned out gradually. One man after another let go 
the cloth, and walked away sadly. The clouds vanished without trace, 
as though the aqueous vapour had been annihilated i in the warm desert- 
air. Nota drop reached us. 

In the evening, I listened to the conversation of the men. Islam 
said: ‘“The camels will collapse first, one by one; then it will be our 


THE SAND-SEA 153 


turn.” Yolchi, the guide, thought that we had come in for telesmat, 
or witchcraft. 

‘We only imagine that we are walking straight ahead; but in reality 
we are walking in a circle all the time. We exhaust ourselves uselessly. 
We might just as well lie down to die anywhere.” 

‘‘Haven’t you noticed the regular course of the sun?” I asked. “Do 
you think that one walks in a circle, when one has the sun at one’s right 
every day at noon?” 

“We only think so; it is telesmat,” he insisted. “Or the sun itself 
has gone mad.” 

Thirsty, after the two miserable cups of water which was our dole 
for the whole day, we again went to rest. 


CHAPTER XX 


The Caravan Meets with Disaster 


which we had never seen, broke over our camp. The wind 

heaped piles of sand on us, on our belongings, and on our 

camels; and, when we rose, at dawn, to meet another terrible 
day, we found we were nearly buried in sand. Everything had sand 
in it. My boots and my cap, my leather instrument-bag, and other 
articles had disappeared; and we had to dig the things out again with 
our hands. 

There was little actual daybreak to speak of. Even at noon the 
darkness was more pronounced than at dusk. It was like marching at 
night. The air was filled with opaque clouds of drift-sand. Only the 
nearest camel was dimly visible, like a shadow in this otherwise im- 
pervious mist. ‘The bronze bells were inaudible, even when quite near. 
Shouts could not be heard. Only the deafening roar of the storm filled 
our ears. 

With such weather; it was wise for all of us to stick together. To 
fall behind the caravan, or to let it get out of sight, was to lose it 
forever. The traces of camels and men were obliterated almost 
instantly. / ; 

The gale grew into a hurricane. The velocity of the wind was fifty- 
five miles an hour. During the most violent blasts we nearly choked. 
Sometimes the camels refused to walk, but lay down and stretched their 
necks along the sand. ‘Then we also threw ourselves down, pressing 
our faces against their flanks. 2 

One of the younger camels began to stagger during that day’s 
march. He was being led in the rear of the caravan by Yolchi. As I 
walked along, I kept my hand on one of our boxes, so as not to lose 
my way. Yolchi came up and shouted in my ear that the camel had 
fallen on a steep sand-ridge, and could not be induced to get up. At 
once I ordered a halt, and sent Mohammed Shah and Kasim to save the 
camel. They returned in a few minutes and reported that the trail had 

154 


Ew in the morning of April 28, a sandstorm, the like of 


E CARAVAN MEETS WITH DISASTER 155 


disappeared, and that they had been unable to find the camel in the thick 
clouds of whirling sand. As it was a question of life and death for 
all of us, we had to leave him, as well as his load, consisting of two 
boxes of provisions, ammunition, and furs. He was doomed to die of 
thirst in this suffocating, murderous desert. 

In the evening, when we camped, we got rid of the other boxes, 
which contained provisions, furs, blankets, rugs, pillows, books, cooking- 
apparatus, kerosene, pots and pans, a set of agate-ware and china, etc. 
Everything that could be dispensed with was packed in boxes, which we 


WORKING OUR WAY THROUGH THE SANDSTORM 


stowed between two dunes. Into the crest of the higher dune we drove 
a pole, to the top of which we tied a newspaper, to serve as a beacon. 
We kept only enough food for a few days. All the liquid tinned food 
was distributed among the men. They ate it, first satisfying themselves, 
however, that it contained no pork. They greedily drank up the oil in 
the sardine-tins. Another pack-saddle was emptied of its hay stuffing; 
but the camels ate the hay without relish, their throats were so parched. 
In the evening, I drank my last cup of tea. Only two small iron jars 
of water were now left. 

The gale subsided during the night. At sunrise, on the twenty-ninth 


156 MUYs si T BB Oo vAS AUNT Se BO Trts 


of April, Islam reported that one of the water-jugs had been stolen 
during the night. Everyone suspected Yolchi, especially as he did not 
show up until the next morning. 

We started off with the remaining five camels. Again we made obser- 
vations from the high dunes. There was only a sea of yellow sand in 
all directions. Not a sign of organic life even the size of a pin-head. 
Yet, to our surprise, we found the grey, porous trunk of a poplar, 
withered for centuries, perhaps for thousands of years. How many 
dunes had passed over this tree, dead ever since its roots had ceased 
to reach the moisture of the subsoil. 

As a result of the storm, the air was filled with flying particles of 
sand, which tended to moderate the sun’s heat somewhat. Yet the 
camels walked slowly, with tired, deliberate steps. “The last two bronze 
bells tinkled in slow, solemn measure. We moved on for twelve and 
a half hours, with countless stops and interruptions. From our night’s 
camp, nothing could be seen to indicate that the desert sea had a shore. 

The next morning, the thirtieth of April, the camels got all the 
butter that was left. There still remained a few cups of water in the 
last iron jar. While the camels were being laden, we came upon Yolchi, 
with the jug to his mouth. Foaming with rage, Islam and Kasim fell 
upon him, beat his face, threw him to the ground, kicked him, and 
would have killed him on the spot, had I not intervened. 

Hardly one cup of water remained. I told the men that at noon I 
would dip the corner of a handkerchief in it and moisten my lips and 
theirs, and that the last drops would suffice for a small mouthful for 
each. At noon I moistened their lips, but in the evening the jug was 
empty. I do not know who the guilty one was, and it was no use hold- 
ing a trial. The desert was endless, and we were all headed toward 
certain death. 

When we had gone along for a while, the dunes became lower, 
averaging about twenty-five feet. A wagtail was hopping on a dune- 
comb. Islam Bai was so buoyed up by this, that he begged permission 
to hurry eastward with the empty iron jugs, and to return after he had 
filled them at the nearest water. But I would not allow it. He was 
more necessary to us now than ever. 

Yolchi was missing again; and the others were furious. They 
thought he had deliberately understated the distance, after he had 
stolen the water from us that night, in the hope that we would die of 


feeG ARAN AUN WER Ral owe br DAS A ST RR’ 157 


thirst, and that afterwards he could steal our Chinese silver and find 
refuge in the woods along the Khotan-daria. But I think their suspicions 
were groundless. 

That night, I wrote what I supposed were to be my last lines in my 
diary: “Halted on a high dune, where the camels dropped. We examined 
the east through the field-glasses; mountains of sand in all directions, 
not a straw, no life. All, men as well as camels, are extremely weak. 
God help us!” 

May Day, a springtime feast of joy and light, at home in Sweden, 
was for us the heaviest day on our via dolorosa through the desert. 

The night had been quiet, clear, and cold (36°); but the sun was 
hardly above the horizon, when it grew warm. ‘The men squeezed 
the last drops of the rancid oil out of a goat’s skin, and gave them to 
the camels. The day before, I had not had a single drop of water, 
and the day before that, only two cups. I was suffering from thirst; 
and when, by chance, I found the bottle in which we kept the Chinese 
spirits for the Primus stove, I could not resist the temptation of drinking 
some of it. It was a foolish thing to do; but nevertheless I drank 
half the bottle. Yoldash heard the gurgling sound, and came toward 
me, wagging his tail. I let him have a sniff. He snorted, and went 
away sadly. I threw the bottle away, and the rest of the liquid flowed 
out into the sand. 

That treacherous drink finished me. I tried to rise, but my legs 
would not support me. The caravan broke camp, but I remained behind. 
Islam Bai led, compass in hand, going due east. The sun was already 
burning-hot. My men probably thought I would die where I lay. They 
went on slowly, like snails. The sound of the bells grew fainter, and 
finally died away altogether. On every dune-crest the caravan reap- 
peared like a dark spot, smaller and smaller; in every hollow between 
the dunes, it remained concealed for a while. Finally I saw it no more. 
But the deep trail, with its dark shadows from the sun, which was still 
low, reminded me of the danger of my situation. I had not strength 
enough to follow the others. They had left me. The horrible desert 
extended in all directions. [he sun was burning and blinding, and 
there was not a breath of air. 

Then a terrible thought struck me. What if this was the quiet 
before a storm? At any moment, then, I might see the black streak, 
across the horizon in the east, which heralded the approach of a sand- 


158 MY. cLLFE: AS) AN oo Pil Omak 


storm. The trail of the caravan would then be obliterated in a few 
moments, and I would never find my men and camels again, those wrecks 
of the ships of the desert! 

I exerted all my will-power, got up, reeled, fell, crawled for a while 
along the trail, got up again, dragged myself along, and crawled. One 
hour passed, and then another. From the ridge of a dune, I saw the 
caravan. It was standing still. The bells had ceased tinkling. By 
superhuman efforts, I managed to reach it. 

Islam stood on a ridge, scanning the eastern horizon, and shading 
his eyes with his hand. Again he asked permission to hurry eastward 
with the jugs. But seeing my condition, he quickly abandoned the idea. 

Mohammed Shah was lying on his face, sobbingly invoking Allah. 
Kasim sat in the shadow of a camel, his face covered with his hands. 


- ae 
Auk 
- oat 


wee 


ALL, MEN AND CAMELS, WERE DYING FROM THIRST 


He told me that Mohammed Shah had been raving about water all 
the way. Yolchi lay on the sand, as if he were dead. 

Islam suggested that we continue, and look for a spot of hard clay 
ground, where we might dig for water. All the camels were lying down. 
I climbed on the white one. Like the others, he refused to get up. Our 
plight was desperate. Here we were to die. Mohammed Shah lay 
babbling, toying with the sand, and raving about water. I realized 
that we had reached the last act of our desert-drama. But I was not 
yet ready to give in altogether. 


THE CARAVAN MEETS WITH DISASTER 159 


The sun was now glowing like an oven. ‘When the sun has gone 
down,” I said to Islam, “we will break camp and march all night. Up 
with the tent!’’ ‘The camels were freed from their burdens, and lay 
in the blazing sun all day. Islam and Kasim pitched the tent. I crawled 
in, undressed completely, and lay down on a blanket, my head pillowed 
on asack. Islam, Kasim, Yoldash, and the sheep went into the shade, 
while Mohammed Shah and Yolchi stayed where they had fallen. The 
hens were the only ones to keep up their spirits. 

This death-camp was the unhappiest I lived through in all my 
wanderings in Asia. 

It was only half-past nine in the morning, and we had hardly 
traversed three miles. I was absolutely done up, and not able to move 
a finger. I thought I was dying. I imagined myself already lying in 
a mortuary chapel. The church-bells had stopped tolling for the funeral. 
My whole life flew past me like a dream. ‘There were not many hours 
left me on the threshold of eternity. But most of all, I was tormented 
by the thought of the anxiety and uncertainty which I would cause my 
parents and brother and sisters. When I should be reported missing, 
Consul Petrovsky would make investigations. He would learn that 
I had left Merket on the tenth of April. All traces after that, however, 
would then have been swept away; for several storms would have passed 
over the desert since then. They would wait and wait at home. One 
year would pass after another. But no news would come, and finally 
they would cease hoping. 

About noon, the slack flaps of the tent began to bulge, and a faint 
southerly breeze moved over the desert. It blew stronger, and after 
a couple of hours it was so fresh that I rolled myself up in my blanket. 

And now a miracle happened! My debility vanished and my strength 
returned! If ever I longed for the sunset, it was now. I did not want 
to die: I would not die in this miserable, sandy desert! I could run, 
walk, crawl on my hands and feet. My men might not survive, but 
I had to find water! 

The sun lay like a red-hot cannon-ball on a dune in the west. I was 
in the best of condition. I dressed, and ordered Islam and Kasim to 
prepare for departure. The sunset-glow spread its purple light over 
the dunes. Mohammed Shah and Yolchi were in the same position as 
in the morning. The former had already begun his death-struggle; 
and he never regained consciousness. But the latter woke to life in the 


160 MY LIBRE AS ANG Bator he 


cool of the evening. With his hands clenched, he crawled up to me, 
and cried pitifully: ““Water! Give us water, sir! Only a drop of 
water!’ Then he crawled away. 

“Ts there no liquid here, whatever?” I said. 

‘Why, the rooster!” So they cut off the rooster’s head and drank 
his blood. But that was only a drop in the bucket. Their eyes fell on 
the sheep, which had followed us as faithfully as a dog, without com- 
plaining. Everyone hesitated. It would be murder to kill the sheep 
to prolong our lives for only one day. But Islam led it away, turned 
its head toward Mecca, and slashed its carotids. The blood, reddish- 
brown and ill-smelling, flowed slowly and thickly. It coagulated imme- 
diately into a cake, which the men gulped down. -I tried it, too; but 
it was nauseous, and the mucous membrance of my throat was so dry, 
that it stuck there, and I had to get rid of it quickly. 

Mad with thirst, Islam and Yolchi collected camel’s urine in a 
receptacle, mixed it with sugar and vinegar, held their noses, and drank. | 
Kasim and I declined to join in this drinking-bout. The two who had 
drunk this poison were totally incapacitated. “They were overcome with 
violent cramps and vomiting, and lay writhing and groaning on the sand. ° 

Islam recovered slightly. Before darkness fell, we went over our 
baggage. I laid everything that was irreplaceable in one pile: note- 
books, itineraries, maps, instruments, pencils and paper, arms and am- 
munition, the Chinese silver (about $1,300), lanterns, candles, a pail, 
a shovel, provisions for three days, some tobacco, and a few other things. 
A pocket-Bible was the only book included. Among the things aban- 
doned were the cameras and about a thousand plates, of which about 
one hundred had already been exposed, the medicine-chest, saddles, 
clothes, presents intended for the natives, and much besides. I removed 
a suit of clean clothing from the pile of discarded things, and changed 
everything, from head to foot; for if I was to die and be buried by 
the sandstorms in the eternal desert, I would at least be robed in a clean, 
new shroud. 

The things we had decided to take along were packed in soft saddle- 
bags, and these were fastened to the camels. All the pack-saddles were 
discarded, as they would only have added unnecessary weight. 

Yolchi had crawled into the tent to lie down on my blanket. He 
looked repulsive, soiled as he was with blood from the lungs of the 
sheep. I tried to brace him up, and advised him to follow our track 


PHE CARAVAN MEETS WITH DISASTER. 161 


during the night. He did not answer. Mohammed Shah was already 
delirious. In his delirium, he muttered the name of Allah. I tried to 
make his head comfortable, passed my hand over his burning forehead, 
begged him to crawl along our trail as far as he could, and told him 
that we would return to rescue him as soon as we found water. 

The two men eventually died in the death-camp, or near it. They 
were never heard of; and when, after a year had elapsed, they were 
still missing, I gave a sum of money to their respective widows and 
children. 

All five camels were induced to get up, and they were tied to one 
another in single file. Islam led, and Kasim brought up the rear. We 
did not take the two dying men along, because the camels were too 
weak to carry them; and, indeed, in their deplorable condition, they 
could not have kept their seats between the humps. We also cherished 
the hope that we would find water, in which case we were going to fill 
the two goatskins that we still carried, and hurry back to save the 
unfortunate ones. 

The hens, having satisfied their keen hunger with the dead sheep’s 
blood, had gone to rest. A silence more profound than that of the 
grave prevailed around the tent. As twilight was about to merge into 
darkness, the bronze bells sounded for the last time. We headed east- 
ward as usual, avoiding the highest ridges. After a few minutes’ walk, 
I turned about, and gave a farewell-glance at the death-camp. The 
tent stood out distinctly in the vanishing daylight that still lingered 
in the west. It was a relief to get away from this ghastly place. It was 
soon swallowed up by the night. 

When it was pitch-dark, I lit the candle in the lantern, and walked 
ahead, looking for the easiest way. One of the camels collapsed during 
the march, and lay down immediately, prepared for death, neck and 
legs stretched out. His bag was placed on ‘‘White,” the strongest of 
the four survivors. The dying camel’s bronze bell remained with him. 
Its tinkling was now a thing of the past. 

Our progress was desperately slow. Every step was an effort for 
the camels. Now one, then the other stopped, and had to rest for a 
while. Islam suffered from fresh attacks of vomiting, and lay writhing 
on the sand like a worm. In the faint light from the lantern, I lengthened 
my stride, and went on ahead. I walked thus for two hours. The 


162 MY (ha PE AS “VAN: oe Bae Orn ae 


sound of the bells died away behind me. There was no sound discernible, 
save the swishing of the sand under my heels. 

At eleven o'clock, I struggled up onto a flat, sandy ridge, to listen 
and to reconnoitre. The Khotan-daria couldn’t be far away. I scanned 
the east, hoping to detect the fire of a shepherd’s camp; but everything 
was pitch-dark. Only the stars shone. No sound interrupted the silence. 
I placed the lantern in a position to serve as a beacon for Islam and 
Kasim, laid myself on my back, and pondered and listened. “My com- 
posure, however, remained unshaken. 

Far away, the clanging of the last bell again became audible. There 
were intervals of quiet, but the sound came nearer. After I had waited 
for what seemed like eternity, the four camels stood forth like phantoms. 
They came up to me on the ridge and lay down right away. They 
probably mistook the lantern for a camp-fire. Islam staggered along, 
threw himself on the sand, and whispered labouredly that he could go 
no farther. He would die where he was. He made no answer when 
I tried to encourage him to hold out. 

On seeing that the game was up, I decided to forfeit everything 
except my life. I even sacrificed diaries and records of observations, 
and took along only what I always carried in my pockets, namely, a 
compass, a watch, two chronometers, a box of matches, handkerchief, 
pocket-knife, pencil, a piece of folded paper, and, by the merest chance, 
ten cigarettes. 

Kasim, who still bore up, was happy when I told him to come with 
me. Hurriedly he took the shovel and pail, but forgot his cap. Later 
on, he used my handkerchief to protect himself against sunstroke. I 
bade farewell to Islam, and told him to sacrifice everything, but try 
to save himself by following our track. He looked as if he were going 
to die, and made no answer. 

After a last look at the patient camels, I hurried away from this 
painful scene, where a man was fighting death, and where the veterans 
of our erstwhile proud caravan would end their desert-journey for good. 
I caressed Yoldash, and left it to him to decide whether he would stay 
or go with us. He stayed, and I never saw the faithful dog again. It 
was midnight. We had been shipwrecked in the middle of the sea, 
and were now leaving the sinking ship. : 

The lantern was still burning beside Islam, but its light soon died 
out behind us, 


CHAPTER XXI 
The Last Days 


HUS we walked on through the night and the sand. After 
two hours of it, we were so exhausted, from fatigue and from 
lack of sleep, that we flung ourselves headlong on the sand, 
and dozed off. I was wearing thin, white, cotton clothes, 

and was soon awakened by the cold night-air. Then we walked again, 
till the limit of our endurance was reached. We slept once more on 
a dune. My stiff-topped boots, reaching to my knees, made progress 
dificult. I was on the point of throwing them away several times; but 
fortunately I did not do so. 

After another halt, we walked on for five hours more, that is, fbn 
four to nine in the morning. This was on the second of May. Then one 
hour’s rest again, and one and a half hour’s slow march. The sun was 
blazing. All became black before our eyes, as we sank down on the sand. 
Kasim dug out, from a northerly slope, sand which was still cold from 
the night. I stripped and laid myself down in it, while Kasim shovelled 
sand over me up to my neck. He did the same for himself. Our heads 
were quite close to each other, and we shaded ourselves from the sun 
by hanging our clothes on the spade, which we had stuck in the ground. 

All day long we lay like this, speaking not a word, and not getting 
a wink of sleep. The turquoise-blue sky arched over us, and the yellow 
sea of the desert extended around us, stretching to the horizon. 

When the ball of the sun again rested on the ridge of a dune in 
the west, we got up, shook off the sand, dressed, and dragged ourselves 
slowly, and with innumerable interruptions, towards the east, until one 
o'clock in the morning. 

The sand-bath, although cooling and pleasant during the heat of 
the day, was also weakening. Our strength was ebbing. We could not 
cover as much ground as the night before. Thirst did not torment us, 
as it had done during the first days; for the mouth-cavity had become 

163 


164 MY LIFE AS AN: BX PCORE 


as dry as the outside skin, and the craving was dulled. An increasing 
feebleness set in, instead. The functioning of all the glands was reduced. 
Our blood got thicker, and flowed through the capillaries with increasing 
sluggishness. Sooner or later this process of drying-up would reach its 
climax in death. 

From one o'clock until half-past four in the morning, on May 3, 
we lay inanimate; and not even 
the cold night-air could rouse 
us to go on. But at dawn we 
dragged ourselves forward 
again. We would take a couple 
of steps intermittently. We 
managed to get down the sandy 
slopes fairly well; but climbing 
the waves of sand was heavy 
work. 

At sunrise, Kasim caught me 
by the shoulder, stared, and 
pointed east, without saying a 
word. 

‘What is it?” I whispered. 
KASIM AND I CREEPING AND STRUGGLING FOR LIFE “A tamarisk,” he gasped. 

A sign of vegetation at last! 
God be praised! Our hopes, which had been close to extinction, flamed 
up once more. We walked, dragged ourselves, and staggered for three 
hours, before we reached that first bush—an olive-branch intimating 
that the sea of the desert had a shore. We thanked God for this 
blessed gift, as we chewed the bitter, green needles of the tamarisk. 
Like a water-lily, the bush stood on its wave of sand, basking in the 
sun. But how far below was the water that nourished its roots? 

About ten o’clock, we found another tamarisk; and we saw several 
more in the east. But our strength was gone. We undressed, buried 
ourselves in the sand, and hung our clothes on the branches of the 
tamarisk, to make shade. 

We lay in silence for nine hours. The hot desert-air dried our faces 
into parchment. At seven o’clock, we dressed, and continued onward. 
We went more slowly than ever. After three hours’ walk in the dark, 
Kasim stopped short, and whispered: ‘‘Poplars!” 


THE: BAST DAYS 165 


Between two dunes there appeared three poplars, standing close 
together. We sank down at their base, exhausted with fatigue. Their 
roots, too, must derive nourishment from below. We took hold of the 
spade, intending to dig a well; but the spade slipped from our hands. 
We had no strength left. We lay down and scratched the ground with 
our nails, but gave up the attempt as useless. 

Instead, we tore off the fresh leaves, and rubbed them into our skin. 
Then we collected dry, fallen twigs, and made a fire on the nearest 
crest, as a signal to Islam, should he prove to be still alive, which I 
very much doubted. ‘The fire might also, perhaps, attract the attention 
of a shepherd in the woods along the Khotan-daria. But even if a 
shepherd should see this fire in an area of deathly silence, he was more 
likely to become frightened and believe it was the desert-spirit who 
haunted the place and practised witchcraft. For fully two hours we 
kept the fire going, regarding it as a companion, a friend, and a chance 
of rescue. Nowadays, those who are shipwrecked at sea have other 
means of sending out their S.O.S., in moments of extreme danger. We 
had only this fire; and our eyes were glued to its flames. 

The night was coming to an end; and the sun, our worst enemy, 
would soon rise again above the dunes on the eastern horizon, to torment 
us anew. At four on the morning of the fourth of May, we started off, 
stumbling along for five hours. Then our strength gave out. Our hope 
was again on the decline. In the east there were no more poplars, no 
more tamarisks, to stimulate our dying vitality with their verdure. Only 
mounds of sand, as far as the eye could reach. 

We collapsed on the slope of a dune. Kasim’s ability to dig out cold 
sand for me was gone. I had to help myself as best I could. 

For fully ten hours we lay silent in the sand. It was strange that 
we were still alive. Would we have strength enough to drag ourselves 
through one more night—our last one? 

I rose at twilight and urged Kasim to come. Hardly audible was 
his gasp: “I can’t go on.” 3 

And so I left the last remnant of the caravan behind, and continued 
on alone. I dragged myself along, and fell. I crawled up slopes, and 
staggered down the other side. I lay quiet:for long periods, listening. 
Not a sound! The stars shone like electric torches. I wondered 
whether I was still on earth, or whether this was the valley of the shadow 
of death. I lit my last cigarette. Kasim had always received the butts; 


166 MY LIFE! JAS AN DEQ Orr 


but now I was alone, and so I smoked this one to the end. It afforded 
me a little relief and distraction. 

Six hours had passed since the beginning of my solitary journey, 
when, totally overcome with feebleness, I sank down by a new tamarisk, 
and went off into the doze which I feared, for death might come while 
I was asleep. As a matter of fact, I hardly slept at all. All the time, 
in the grave-like silence, I heard the beating of my heart and the ticking 
of the chronometers. And after a couple of hours, I heard the swish 
of steps in the sand, and saw a phantom stagger and struggle to my side. 

“Is that you, Kasim?” I whispered. | 

“Vessirei 

“Come! We have not far to go!” 

Heartened by our reunion, we struggled on. We slid down the 
dunes; we struggled upwards. We would lie, motionless, where we 
fell, in our battle against the insidious desire for sleep. We slackened 
our pace, and grew more and more indolent. We were like sleep- 
walkers; but still we fought for our lives. 

Suddenly Kasim grabbed my artn and pointed downwards at the 
sand. ‘There were distinct tracks of human beings! 

In a twinkling we were wide awake. It was plain that the river 
must be near! It was possible that some shepherds had noticed our 
fire and had come to investigate. Or maybe a sheep, astray in the 
desert, had been searched for by these men who had so recently passed 
over the sand. 

Kasim bent down, examined the prints, and gasped: 

“Tt is our own trail!” 

In our listless, somnolent state, we had described a ate: without 
knowing it. ‘That was enough for a while; we could not endure any 
more. We collapsed on the trail and fell asleep. It was half-past two 
at night. 

When the new day dawned, on the fifth of May, 1 we rose heavily, 
and with difficulty. Kasim looked terrible. His tongue was white 
and swollen, his lips blue, his cheeks were hollow, and his eyes had a 
dying, glassy lustre. He was tortured by a kind of death-hiccup, which 
shook his whole frame. When the body is so completely dried up that 
the joints almost creak, every movement is an effort. 

It grew lighter. The sun rose. From the top of a dune, where 
nothing obstructed the view towards the east, we noticed that the 


Ey AS eee AN ys S 167 


horizon, which for two weeks had revealed a row of yellow saw-teeth, 
now disclosed an absolutely even, dark-green line. We stopped short, 
as though petrified, and exclaimed simultaneously: ‘““The forest!’ And 
Iadded: ‘The Khotan-daria! Water!” 

Again we collected what little strength we had left, and struggled 
along eastwards. The dunes grew lower, we passed a depression in 
the ground, at the bottom of which we — . 
tried to dig; but we were still too weak. | 
We went on. The dark-green line grew, 
the dunes diminished, stopped alto- 
gether, and were replaced by level, soft 
ground. We were but a few hundred 
yards from the forest. At half-past five 
we reached the first poplars, and, 
wearied, sank down in their shade. We 
enjoyed the fragrance of the forest. 
We saw flowers growing between the 
trees, and heard the birds sing and the 
flies and gadflies hum. 

At seven o’clock we continued. The 
forest grew thinner. We came upon a path, showing traces of men, 
sheep, and horses, and we thought it might lead to the river. After 
following it for two hours, we collapsed in the shade of a poplar-grove. 

We were too weak to move. Kasim lay on his back. He looked as 
if he were going to die. The river must be quite near. But we were 
as if nailed down. A tropical heat surrounded us. Would the day 
never come to an end? Every hour that passed brought us closer to 
certain death. We would have to drag ourselves on to the river, before 
it got too late! But the sun did not go down. We breathed heavily, 
and with effort. The will-to-live was about to desert us. 

At seven P.M., I was able to get up. I hung the iron spade-blade 
in the crotch of a tree, and used the wooden handle for a cane. ‘The 
blade would serve to mark the way, in case we returned with some shep- 
herds to rescue the three dying men and recover the lost baggage. But 
it was four whole days since we had deserted the men. They were sure 
to be dead already. And it would take us several days more to reach 
them. Their situation was clearly hopeless. 


A DARK LINE OF FOREST FAR AWAY IN- 
SPIRED US WITH NEW HOPE 


168 MY \LDRE: SAS. AN.) EXP ORE R 


Again I urged Kasim to accompany me to the river to drink. He 
signalled with his hand that he could not rise; and he whispered that 
he would soon die under the poplars. 

Alone I pulled myself along through the forest. Thickets of thorny 
bushes, and dry, fallen branches, obstructed my way. I tore my thin 
clothes and scratched my hands; 
but gradually I worked my way 
through. .I rested frequently, 
crawled part of the way on all- 
fours, and noticed with anxiety 
how the darkness grew denser 
in the woods. Finally the new 
night came—the last one. I 
could not have survived another 
day. 

The forest ended abruptly, as 
though burnt by a fire. I found 
myself on the edge of a six- 

foot-high terrace, which de- 
I CREPT, DYING, THROUGH THE FOREST IN SEARCH 4 
OF WATER scended almost perpendicularly 
to an absolutely level plain, de- 
void of vegetation. The ground was packed hard. A withered, leafless 
twig was sticking out of it. I saw that it was a piece of drift-wood, 
and that I was in the river-bed of the Khotan-daria. And it was dry, 
as dry as the sandy desert behind me! 

Was I to die of thirst in the very bed of the river, after having 
fought my way so successfully to its bank? No! I was not going to 
lie down and die without first crossing the Khotan-daria and assuring 
myself that the whole bed was dry, and that all hope was irretrievably 
gone. | | 

I knew that the course of the river was almost due north. The 
shortest distance to the right-hand shore would therefore be straight 
eastward. Although the moon was up, and I watched the compass, 
I was all the time, and unconsciously, being drawn toward the south- 
east. There was no use fighting this force. I walked as though led 
by an invisible hand. Finally I resisted no more, but walked towards 
the southeast, where the moon was. I frequently sank down and rested. 
I was then overcome by a terrible desire for sleep. My head sank to 


THEO CAST DANS 169 


the ground, and I had to use all my will-power not to go to sleep. Had 
I gone to sleep, exhausted as I was, I am sure I should never have waked 
again. 

Like the beds of all desert-rivers in Central Asia, that of Khotan- 
daria is very wide, flat, and shallow. A light haze floated over the 
desolate landscape. I had gone about one mile, when the outlines of 
the forest on the eastern shore appeared below the moon. Dense 
thickets of bushes and reeds grew on the terraced shore. A fallen 
poplar stretched its dark trunk down towards the river-bed. It looked 
like the body of a crocodile. The bed still remained as dry as before. 
It was not far to the shore where I must lie down and die. My life 
hung on a hair. 

Suddenly I started, and stopped short. A water-bird, a wild duck 
or goose, rose on whirring wings, and I heard a splash. The next mo- 
ment, I stood on the edge of a pool, seventy feet long and fifteen feet 
wide! The water looked as black as ink in the moonlight. The over- 
turned poplar-trunk was reflected in its depths. 

In the silent night I thanked God for my miraculous deliverance. 
Had I continued eastwards I should have been lost. In fact, if I had 
touched shore only a hundred yards north or south of the pool, I would 
have believed the entire river-bed to be dry. I knew that the freshets 
from melting snow-fields and glaciers in northern Tibet flowed down 
through the Khotan-daria bed only in the beginning of June, to dry up 
in the late summer and autumn, leaving the bed dry during the winter 
and spring. I had also heard that in certain places, separated some- 
_ times by a day’s journey or more, the river forms eddies, which scoop 
the bed into greater depths, and that the water may remain the year 
round in these hollows near the terraced shore. And now I had come 
upon one of these extremely rare bodies of water! 

I sat down calmly on the bank, and felt my pulse. It was so weak 
that it was hardly noticeable—only forty-nine beats. ‘Then I drank, 
and drank again. I drank without restraint. The water was cold, 
clear as crystal, and as sweet as the best spring-water. And then I 
drank again. My dried-up body absorbed the moisture like a sponge. 
All my joints softened, all my movements became easier. My skin, 
hard as parchment before, now became softened. My forehead grew. 
moist. The pulse increased in strength; and after a few minutes it was 


170 MY LIFE BS VAN GCE AR OR 


fifty-six. The blood flowed more freely in my veins. I had a feeling 
of well-being and comfort. I drank again, and sat caressing the water 
in this blessed pool. Later on, I christened this pool Khoda-verdi-kol, 
or ‘The Pool of God’s Gift.” 

The reeds grew thick on the shore, and the bushes formed tangled 
thickets. The silver crescent of the moon hung in the crown of a poplar. 
There was a rustle in the thicket. Brittle, dry reeds were displaced as 


a. 


o ee 
LBL 
ZZ 


THE POOL WHICH SAVED MY LIFE 


by a body propelling itself. Was it a tiger, stealing to the pool to drink? 
With the smile of a conqueror I waited to see his eyes shine in the dark. 
‘Come on, you!’’ I thought. ‘Just try to take my life, which but five 
minutes ago was granted me a second time!”” But the swishing sound 
among the reeds died away; and whether it was a tiger or some other 
forest inhabitant that had come to the pool to quench his thirst, he evi- 
dently thought it best to retire, on discovering the intrusion made by 
this lone man, gone astray. , 


CHAPTER XXII 


Robinson Crusoe 


_ harm from my injudicious drinking. 

My thoughts now flew to Kasim, who lay, faint from thirst, 
on the edge of the wood on the western shore. Of the stately 
caravan of three weeks ago, I, a European, was the only one that had 
held out till the moment of rescue. If I did not waste my minutes, per- 
haps Kasim, too, might be saved. But in what was I to carry the water? 
Why, in my water-proof boots! There was, in fact, no other receptacle. 
I filled them to the top, suspended them at either end of the spade- 
handle, and carefully recrossed the river-bed. Though the moon was 
low, my old track was plainly visible. J reached the forest. The moon 
went down, and dense darkness descended among the trees. I lost my 
trail, and went astray among thorny bushes and thickets, which would 

not give under my stockinged feet. 

From time to time, I called “Kasim!” at the top of my voice. But 
the sound died away among the tree-trunks; and I got no answer but 
the “‘clevitt”’ of a frightened night-owl. 

If I lost my way, perhaps I would never again find the trail, and then 
Kasim would be lost. I stopped at an impenetrable thicket of dry 
branches and brush, set fire to the whole thing, and enjoyed seeing the 
flames lick and scorch the nearest poplars. Kasim could not be far 
away; he was certain both to hear and to see the fire. But he did not 
come. I had no choice but to await the dawn. 

At the foot of a poplar, out of reach of the fire, I lay down and slept 
for some hours. The fire protected me against any prowling wild 
beasts. 

When dawn came, the night-fire was still glowing, and a black 
column of smoke was rising above the forest. It was easy now to find 
my trail, and the place where Kasim lay. He was still in the same posi- 
tion as the night before. Upon seeing me, he whispered: “I am 
dying!” 


if HAD quenched my thirst; and, strangely enough, I suffered no 


171 


172 MY LIFE AS AN EXPLORER 


“Will you have some water?’ I asked, letting him hear the splash- 
ing sound. He sat up, dazed and staring. I handed him one of the 
boots. He lifted it to his lips and emptied it to the last drop. After 
a short pause he emptied the other one, too. 

“Come along now to the pool,” said I. 

“T can’t,’ Kasim answered. 

“Follow my track, then, as soon as you can. I shall go to the pool, 
first, then southward along the river-bed. Good-bye!” 


Yue Dd ENG WW 
MANS \ 


Y | 
Vy 
y 


SS<se 
S ——F 


= 
.> 


a 
a 


ema 

a we 
SS 
—S 


=< 


“tS 


I MADE A LARGE FIRE TO ATTRACT THE ATTENTION OF KASIM 


I could do no more for Kasim at the moment; and I thought he was 
now out of danger. 

It was five o’clock in the morning of May 6. I drank again at the 
pool, bathed, and rested awhile. ‘Then I walked south, following the 
woody terrace of the eastern, or right bank. I had walked for three 
hours, when it grew dark, and a kara-buran, or black storm, swept over 
the waste. : ; 


. ‘‘These are the first shovels of earth over my dead men on the sand 
in there,” thought I. | 


ROBINSON CRUSOE 173 


The outlines of the forest yanished, and the whole country was 
shrouded in a haze. After three hours’ walk, I again suffered from 
thirst, and it occurred to me that days might elapse before I reached 
another watering-place. It was clearly unwise to have left the first 
pool, Khoda-verdi-kol. 

I said to myself: ‘I'll go back to the pool and find Kasim.” 

After a half-hour’s walk towards the north, I came right upon a 
very small pool, with bad water. I stopped there and drank. I suf- 
fered from hunger now, not having eaten in a week. I ate grass, reed- 
shoots, and leaves, and I even tried the tadpoles in the pool; but they 
tasted bitter and disgusting. It was now two o’clock in the afternoon. 

“T’ll leave Kasim,” thought I, “and stay here till the storm passes.”’ 

Thereupon I went into the wood, sought and found a dense thicket, 
which sheltered me from the strong wind, arranged my boots and cap 
into a pillow, and slept soundly, and well, for the first time since the 
thirtieth of April. | 

I awoke at eight o’clock. It was dark. ‘The storm roared and 
rushed above me, the dry branches groaning and creaking. I gathered 
fuel for the “camp,” and made a fire. Then I drank again at the little 
pool, ate grass and leaves, and sat watching the play of the flames. If 
I had only had the company of our faithful Yoldash! I whistled, but 
the storm drowned every sound, and Yoldash never returned. 

When I awoke at dawn, on May 7, the storm was over, but the air 
was still full of fine dust. I was alarmed at the thought that the 
nearest shepherds might be several days distant, and that I could not 
survive long without food. It must be a hundred and fifty miles to 
Khotan. With my reduced strength, I would need at least six days to 
cover that distance. 

I started as early as half-past four, and made towards the south, 
walking right in the middle of the river-bed. To be on the safe side, 
I half filled my boots with water, and carried them suspended from the 
spade-handle, like a yoke, on my shoulders. After a while, I approached 
the left bank, where I saw an abandoned sheep-pen and a well. At 
noon, the heat was unbearable. I walked into the forest and lunched 
on grass, leaves, and reed-shoots. ‘Twilight took me by surprise. I 
made a fire, and spent the night there. 

On the eighth of May, I set out before the sun was up, and walked 
nearly the whole day. Before nightfall I made a startling discovery on 


174 MY LIFE AS AN EXPLORER 


the shore of a little island. In the hard-packed sand of the river-bed, 
there appeared quite fresh prints of two barefoot men, driving four 
mules northwards! Why had I not met them? Very likely they had 
passed me during the night, while I was asleep. Now they were far 
ahead, and it would be useless to turn back and try to overtake them. 

I thought I heard an unusual sound from a jutting tongue of land, 
so I stopped short and listened. But the forest was dead-silent; so, 
concluding that it must have been some bird’s call, I went on. . 

But no! After a minute, I heard a human voice and a mooing cow! 
It was no illusion. ‘There were shepherds! 

I emptied the water out of my boots, put them on, wet as they were, 
and hurried into the forest, breaking through thickets and jumping over 
fallen trees. Presently I heard the bleating of sheep. A herd was 
grazing in a glen. ‘The shepherd stood as if petrified, when I burst 
forth from the jungle. 

At my greeting, ‘Salam aleikum!” (Peace be with you), he turned 
on his heels and disappeared among the trees. 

He soon returned with an older shepherd. They stopped at a safe 
distance. I then told them in a few words what had happened. 

‘Tama European,’ Isaid. ‘I entered the desert from the Yarkand- 
daria. My men and camels died of thirst, and I have lost everything. 
-For ten days I have had nothing to eat. Give me a piece of bread 
and a bowl of milk, and let me rest near you; for I am tired to death. 
In time I shall be able to pay you for your help.” 

They looked at me with suspicion, evidently thinking that I was 
lying. But after some hesitation, they asked me to come along; and 
I accompanied them to their hut. It stood in the shade, at the foot 
of a poplar, and consisted of only four slender poles, supporting a roof 
of twigs and brush. A worn felt rug lay on the ground, and I dropped 
down on it. The younger shepherd brought out a wooden vessel, and 
offered me a piece of maize-bread. I thanked him, broke a piece off, 
and at once felt as if I were stuffed. Then he gave me a wooden bowl, 
filled with the most delicious sheep’s-milk. 

Without a word, the shepherds rose and disappeared. But their 
two big half-wild dogs stayed and barked incessantly. 

At nightfall they returned with a third shepherd. They had just 
taken the sheep to the pen near by. Now they made a big fire in front 


ROBINSON CRUSOE 175 


of the hut; and when it had burned itself out, all four of us went to 
sleep. 

The shepherds were named Yusup Bai, Togda Bai, and Pasi Ahun. 
They tended a hundred and seventy sheep and goats, and seventy cows, 
which belonged to a merchant in Khotan. 

At daybreak, on May g, I found a bowl of milk and a piece of bread 
beside me; but the shepherds were gone. I ate my breakfast with 
Lucullian appetite, and then went to inspect my immediate surround- 
ings. ‘The hut lay on a sandy height, from which one could view the 
dry bed of the Khotan-daria, near the bank of which the shepherds had 
their well. 

Their clothes were worn and ragged. ‘Their feet were covered with 
plain pieces of sheepskin, laced together; and in their waist-belts they 
carried their supply of tea. Their household-utensils, consisting of two 
crude wooden vessels, lay on the roof of the hut, together with the corn- 
supply and a primitive guitar with three strings. They had also axes 
for cutting their way through the forest, and a fire-steel, for which there 
was little use, as they had only to blow the glowing coals, underneath 
the ashes, into life again. 

_ Avery strange thing happened that afternoon. ‘The shepherds were 
in the woods with the sheep. I sat looking out over the river-bed, and 
saw a caravan of a hundred mules, laden with bags, going from south 
to north, from Khotan to Aksu. Should I hurry down to the leader? 
No. That would have been of no use, as I did not have even a copper 
in my pocket! I would certainly have to stay with my shepherds as a 
hanger-on, get thoroughly rested at their place for a couple of days, 
and then walk to Khotan. I lay down to sleep under the brushwood 
roof. 

Awakened suddenly by voices and the clattering of horses, I sat up, 
and saw three merchants, in white turbans, ride up to the hut, dismount, 
and approach me, bowing humbly. Two of my shepherd friends had 
shown them the way, and were now holding their horses. 

Seating themselves on the sand, they told of having ridden in the 
river-bed the day before, on their way from Aksu to Khotan, brushing 
past the wooded terrace on the left shore, when they saw a man, ap- 
parently dead, lying at the foot of the terrace. A white camel was 
grazing among the trees. 

Like the Good Samaritan, they had stopped to ask what ailed him. 


176 MOY. FE AS AN RAE RR 


He had whispered, ‘‘Su, su’? (Water, water). They sent their servant 
with a jug to the nearest pool, probably the same one that had saved my 
life. Afterwards they gave the man bread and nuts. 

I realized at once that it was Islam Bai. He had told them the 
story of our journey, and had asked them to look for me, although he 
really believed I was dead. Yusup, the chief of the merchants, offered 
me one of his horses, and asked me to accompany them to Khotan, to 
seek rest and quiet. 

But I did not want that at all! Their news instantly changed my 
situation, which had been so gloomy a moment before. Perhaps we 
' might be able to go back to the death-camp and find out if the men we 
left there were still alive. Maybe we could save the baggage, and equip 
a new caravan. Perhaps my money could be found. ‘The future 
seemed bright once more. 

The three merchants said good-bye, and continued their journey, 
after lending me eighteen small silver coins, worth two dollars, and giv- 
ing me a bag of white bread. 

The shepherds were abashed when they realized that I had told them 
the truth. 

On the tenth of May, I slept all day. I felt like a convalescent after 
a long illness. At sunset I heard a camel roar, and went out. There 
was one of the shepherds leading the white camel, with Islam and Kasim 
staggering behind them! 

Islam threw himself at my feet, weeping. He had thought we would 
never meet again. 

When we were seated around the fire, supplied with milk and bread, 
Islam related his adventures. After a few hours of rest, during the 
night of May 1, he and the last four camels had recovered sufficiently 
to follow our track in the sand. On May 3, at night, he had seen our 
fire, and had been greatly encouraged thereby. On reaching the three 
poplars, he bruised one of the trunks, and sucked the sap. As two of 
the camels were dying, he unburdened them at the poplars. On May 5, 
Yoldash, our dog, died of thirst. ‘Two days later, the two dying 
camels collapsed. One of them had been carrying all of our hypsometri- 
cal instruments and many other things of importance. One of the last 
two camels broke loose, and went to graze in the wood; while Islam con- 
tinued, with ‘‘White,” to the river, which he reached on the morning of 
May 8. Finding the river-bed dry, he despaired, and lay down to die. 


ROBINSON CRUSOE 177 


Yusup and the other two merchants rode by a few hours later, and gave 
him water. Later on, they discovered Kasim, too; and now they were 
here. 

In the white camel’s pack we found my diaries and maps, the Chi- 
nese silver, two rifles, and a small supply of tobacco. ‘Thus, at a single 
stroke, I became quite rich again. But all the instruments for measur- 
ing heights, and many other indispensable articles, were lost. 

We bought a sheep from Pasi Ahun, and that evening, beside the 
fire, we lived high. My pulse was now up to sixty, and it rose slowly 
to normal during the next few days. 

The following day, the shepherds moved their camp to a better 
pasture. Here Islam and Kasim built a nice bower for me between two 
poplars. My bed consisted of the torn felt mat, and my pillow of the 
bag in which I kept the Chinese silver. The white camel grazed in the 
forest. He was the only one left of our fine string. Three times a 
day we got milk and bread from the shepherds. We had nothing to 
complain of ; but my thoughts sometimes 
ran to Robinson Crusoe. : 

On the twelfth of May, we saw a 
caravan from Aksu, going south, in the — 
river-bed. Its owners, four merchants, 
accompanied it. Islam brought them to 
the bower; and our situation was again 
improved by the trading which then took 
place. We bought three horses, for 750 
tenge (I tenge = 10 cents); also three 
pack-saddles, one riding-saddle, bits, a 
bag of maize, a bag of wheat-flour, 
tea, jugs, bowls, and a pair of boots for 
Islam, who had lost his in the desert. 
We were once more free to move, and 
could go wherever we wished. 

Two young deer-hunters visited us. caedejiset lla Wad aa bbe beda geht 
They hunted the deer for the sake of 
their horns, which the Chinese use for medicinal purposes. They pre- 
sented me with a fresh-slain deer. The next day, Ahmed Mergen, their 
father, also came to our camp; and it was arranged that Islam, Kasim, 
and the three hunters should try to find the camel that bore the 


178 MY LIFE. AS ANCEXPLORER 


instruments, recover the things that had been left at the poplars, and, 
if possible,\make their way to the death-camp. 

They departed with the white camel and the three horses; and again 
I was alone with the shepherds. 

The period that followed was trying to my patience. I recorded 
my recent adventures in the recovered diaries; and the rest of the time 
I lay in the bower and read. Only one book had been rescued from the 
caravan-wreck; but it was a book that one can begin all over again, 
when one has read it to the end, namely, the Bible. The shepherds, 
who were now my friends, were solicitous for my welfare. The heat 
was tropical. But I was well shaded; and the wind coursed kindly 
through the poplars. One day, some passing merchants sold me a big 
bag of raisins. Another time, my dreams were disturbed by a large 
yellow scorpion, crawling over my felt mat. My dreams were of Tibet. 
As soon as Islam and the others returned with the lost instruments, 
we would go there, by way of Khotan. My strength returned. It was 
a delightful period of rest and solitude in the forest. 

The rescuing-expedition returned on the twenty-first of May. The 
goods that Islam had left at the three poplars were found. ‘The corpses 
of the dead camels were emitting an unendurable stench. But “One- 
Hump,” the camel that had carried the boiling-point thermometer, the 
three aneroids, a Swedish army-revolver, etc., was gone forever. 

It was out of the question to.go to Tibet without instruments for 
measuring altitudes. A new outfit would have to be procured from 
Europe; and so I had to return to Kashgar. We took leave of the 
shepherds, after compensating them royally for their services. There- 
upon we rode to Aksu, which is two hundred and seventy miles from 
Kashgar. We arrived there on June 21, and thence I sent a mounted 
messenger to the nearest telegraph-station on the Russian border. The 
new outfit could not get to Kashgar in less than three or four months. 
How was I to use this long time of waiting? For another expedition 
to the Pamirs, of course. Consul Petrovsky and Mr. Macartney lent 
me the necessary instruments. 

One day, I was invited to dine with Dao Tai. As I entered his 
yamen, he pointed to a revolver on the fle and inquired: ‘Do you 
recognize that?” 

It was my Swedish army-revolver, which had been packed with the 
hypsometrical instruments! 


ROBINSON CRUSOE 179 
Beatiaded. I asked him: 


“Where does that come from?” rj 

“It was found on a peasant, in the village of Tavek-kel, on the 
Khotan-daria, below Khotan.” | | 

‘“‘But where are the other things that were borne by the same camel ?”’ 

“They have not been found. But a careful search is being made 
all along the Khotan-daria. You need not worry.” 

Thieves and traitors were evidently involved in this. What satis- 
faction could these simple people derive from scientific instruments, 
which meant nothing to them, but everything to me! I would have 
given ten camels to get them back. 

The revolver and its discovery are another story; but that must be 
left for a later chapter. 

Fate was now taking me back to the Pamirs. 


ts ee Bee 0st? 
BeD%y wv 
~ 05 079? 2 foe 
~) 


DNicrites Sak l CO = 
TRO Fe O72 


SMasar Ags 


MARCH OF THE CARAVAN 


CIRCA VP TL Rae A 
Second. Expedition to the Pamirs 


Y faithful servant, Kasim, having been appointed watchman 
at the Russian Consulate, I took Islam Bai, two other men, - 
and six horses, and left Kashgar on July 10, 1895. 

The following day, we arrived at Upal, a large village, 
situated in a deep ravine worn out of the soft soil. In the afternoon, 
a heavy rain came down, the like of which I have never again seen. An 
hour before sunset, we heard a furious roar, hollow and mighty, which 
gradually came nearer. In a few minutes, the river-bed was turned 
into a raging torrent, which soon overflowed the banks, flooding large 
sections of the village. Great volumes of water hurled themselves past, 
with tremendous violence, forming a boiling, seething mud-flood, which 
carried everything before it. The ground trembled under the weight. 
The whirling spray lay like a mist on the brown waves. ‘The bridge 
was carried away, as though its posts and planks were made of straw; 
and, on the surface of the water, uprooted trees, carts, household-goods, 
and haycocks tossed about in a wild dance. The awe-struck villagers 
ran about, shrieking, as the water washed away their frail clay houses. 
Mothers, with their babies on their backs, were fleeing through water 
that rose to their waists; while others attempted to save their furniture 
from huts and hovels already invaded by the water. Willow and poplar 
alleys were bent down; and at one exposed point, fifteen houses were 
washed away. From a melon-field which was menaced, the melons, 
nearly ripe, were hurriedly carried to safety. And as for myself, it was 
only by a hair’s-breadth that this caravan, too, was not destroyed. For- 
tunately, our quarters were sufficiently far from the bank. At twilight, 
the water receded quickly; and the following morning, the river-bed 
was again empty. . 

We were now about to climb the mountain-range again, and we 
chose the pass of Ullug-art, which is 16,900 feet high, and closed by 
snow for ten months of the year. 


We rested at the aul, or tent-village, of Ullug-art, in whirling snow; 
180 


SECOND EXPEDITION TO THE PAMIRS 181 


and the Kirghiz thought we would have a difficult journey. But their 
chief undertook, with the assistance of ten men, to carry all our baggage 
across the most difficult ridge of the pass, for a remuneration equivalent 
to eight dollars. | 

We departed, early, through the narrow valley; and, by making 
hundreds of zigzag bends, we ascended the extremely steep slope. Enor- 
mous, steep mountains rose on both 
_ sides; and tongues of glaciers were in 
evidence here and there. The snow was 
about a foot deep. The loads were 
fastened to the backs of the Kirghiz; 
and slowly and heavily we began the 
climb to the entrance to the pass. At 
the very saddle of the pass, stood a pile 
of stones, with staves and rags. The 
Kirghiz prostrated themselves before 
it. 

If the ascent was difficult, the descent |= 
was quite neck-breaking. The snow- la? 
covered path was like a cork-screw; and, [2 yee 
in places, it dropped perpendicularly be- d 
tween the jutting rocks. We hewed 
ridges in the ice-surface; and little by 
little, hauled the boxes down with ropes. Each horse was assisted by 
two men; but one of those that I had bought at the shepherds’ camp 
on the Khotan-daria, lost his footing, tumbled down the steeps, and 
was killed. We ourselves slid down on all-fours. 

We proceeded southward through familiar territory, and up the 
Hunserab River, to the Hindu-kush, where I crossed four high passes, 
from which—with my eyes, at least—I could command Kanjut. I had 
asked the British authorities for permission to go there, but was told: 
‘This road is closed to travellers.” 

We continued to the pass of Vakjir, where the water flows in three 
different directions: through the Panj River, to the Amu-daria and the 
Aral Sea; through the Taghdumbash-daria, to the Yarkand-daria and 
Lake Lop-nor; and through the rivers beginning on the southern side 
of the pass, to the Indus and the Indian Ocean. 

At Chakmakden-kul, I learned that the Anglo-Russian Boundary 


A KIRGHIZ MOTHER WITH HER CHILD 


182 MY LIFE AS AN EXPLORER 


Commission was in the region of Mehman-yoli, a day’s journey toward 
the northeast. The commissioners were determining the boundary be- 
tween the Russian dominions in the north and those of the English in 
the south, from Victoria Lake to the Chinese Pamirs. 

I decided to visit the Commission’s camp. So I sent a Kirghiz, with 
letters to the English general, Gerard, and to the Russian general, 
Pavalo-Shweikowsky; and, after a day, I received cordial invitations 
from both of them. 

On August 19, I rode there with my small caravan, intending to 
pitch my tent on neutral ground between the two camps. As a guest of 
the two generals, I had to observe strict neutrality. But I thought I 
ought to visit Pavalo-Shweikowsky first, having been his guest in Mar- 
gelan. To reach his large Kirghiz yurt, however, I had to pass between 
the English officers’ tents. My old friend, Mr. Macartney, came run- 
ning out of one of them, bringing a dinner-invitation from General 
Gerard for that evening. So there I stood, between two fires, wonder- 
ing how my neutrality was to be maintained. I took refuge in my ac- 
quaintance with the Russian general, and asked to be permitted to visit 
Gerard the next day. During my stay at the camp, I visited the Rus- 
sians and the English on alternate days. 

It was certainly the most picturesque camp ever pitched among the 
desolate ranges of the Pamirs. From the snow-covered crests, wild 
sheep looked down on the motley, humdrum life of the valley, quite un- 
concerned about political boundaries. The English had sixty Indian 
army-officers’ tents; while the Russians had a dozen large Kirghiz felt 
yurts, certain conspicuous ones being covered with white blankets and 
gaily-coloured ribbons. The place teemed with Cossacks, Gurkhas, 
Afridis, Hindus, and Kanjutis; and, at mealtime, bands of music played 
English and Russian compositions. 

There were many distinguished personages among the English. 
First there was the chief, General Gerard, the most daring tiger-hunter 
in India, who, with his own hand, had shot two hundred and sixteen 
tigers, thus breaking all records. Then there was the splendid Colonel, 
Sir Thomas Holdich, one of the greatest authorities of our day on the 
geography of Asia; and, finally, Captain McSwiney, whose friendship 
I shall never forget. I met him again, years later, shortly before his 
death, when he was Brigadier-General at Umballa, India. Among the 
Russians, not the least conspicuous was the topographer, Bendersky, who 


SECOND EXPEDITION (TO THE PAMIRS 183 


was one of the embassy which visited Shir Ali Khan, Emir of Afghanis- 
tan, at Kabul. Abdurrahman Khan, the then Emir, also had a repre- 
sentative on the Boundary Commission. He was Gulam Moheddin 
Khan, a silent, dignified, fine old Afghan. | 

As for me, after my wandering through the desert, it was like a 
resurrection to take part in all the festivities and parties at Mehman- 
yoli. And there was certainly no danger of dying of thirst at the hos- 
pitable officers’ mess. When we assembled at the large casino of the 
Russians, Cossacks with lighted petrol-torches stood guard in front of 
the yurts; and when we were guests of the English, the lonely mountains 
echoed the strains of the band which played during our meals. 

For the entertainment of the men, there were field-sports in front of 
the camp. ‘There was a tug-of-war between eight Cossacks and eight 
Afridis, and the Cossacks won. The 
Cossacks were victorious, too, in a | 
horse-race, beating the Indians by two 
minutes. But in lime-cutting, and tilting’ 
at the ring, the Indians had their re- 
venge. One event, which made every- : 
body, Europeans and Asiatics alike, 
choke with laughter, was a foot-race_ 
between different nationalities, the com- - 
petitors running in sacks tied round | 
their waists, and having to hop over a 
tape during their course. A race be- 
tween camels and yaks was just as ludi- 
crous. But the last event was the most |_/ 
exciting of all. Two bands of Kirghiz | 4 
horsemen, twenty in each, took posi- ‘ 
tions, face to face, at two hundred and D0sr MOHAMED KHAN, AN AFGHAN 
ievevards cistancewPAtarsipnalaticves cies 
dashed off at full gallop, met half-way, 
and tumbled about in the greatest confusion. Many of them went 
headlong to the ground; others got bruises, and were dragged along 
on the ground; and only a few emerged from the encounter without 
injury. 

Meanwhile, an agreement was reached as to the boundary-line. The 
pyramids were accordingly erected, and the Commission’s work was 


184 MY @LIDRE AS AN EXPO RE 


done. On the last evening, when the English gave a splendid farewell- 
banquet, the Indian soldiers performed their national sword-dances 
around a huge fire. ‘Then the guests scattered to the four winds; the 
region sank back into its accustomed quiet; and, after all had departed, 
the valley was swept by a blizzard. 

I returned to Kashgar with my caravan. We had to traverse four 
high ranges, but the greatest adventure was the crossing of the Yarkand- 
daria at the village of Tong. ‘The river was magnificent, in its narrow, 
pinched valley. The enormous volume of water rolled down heavily 
and mightily between steep mountains. Hassan Bek, the chief of the 
village, prepared to ferry us across. Six naked Tajiks, of Iranian 
origin, with inflated goatskins tied to their chests, conveyed our baggage, 
in four separate trips, on a raft composed of a stretcher attached to a 
dozen inflated goatskins. A horse was yoked to the raft, while a swim- 
mer threw his arm around the horse’s neck, and guided him across the 
river. But during the trip, the current carried the raft a good mile down 
the river, and the problem was to get the raft to the opposite bank before 
it was ground to pieces in the eddies where the main rapids began. 

I was seated on a box in the centre of the raft. The strange con- 
trivance was swept madly down the torrent; but to me it seemed as if 
the cliffs on the opposite bank were racing upstream. ‘The raft oscillated 
and careened; I became dazed and dizzy by the wild dance; the dull and 
menacing roar of the rapids increased in strength; and the raft was 
sucked, unresisting, toward the foaming witches’ cauldron, where, the 
next moment, we might have been ground into atoms against the cliffs. 
But our swimmers were well-practised, and sure in their calculations. 
At the point of almost inescapable danger, they forced the raft into the 
counter-current, at the foot of a projecting cliff, and we reached the 
opposite bank safe and sound, 


CP AL Te GR oe TV 


I Discover 2000-Year-Old Cities in the Desert 


equipment arrived from Europe; and on December 14, 1895, a 

small caravan was again ready to start. It included Islam, 

three other men, and nine horses. ‘The distance to Khotan was 
three hundred and six miles. We knew that road from experience; 
and its difficulties were not going to hinder us this time. It ran by way 
of Yarkand, the largest city of East Turkestan, with a hundred and 
fifty thousand inhabitants, seventy-five per cent of whom were afflicted 
with a strange tumour, called boghak, affecting the throat, and often — 
growing to the size of the head. 

East of Kargalik, where I spent Christmas Eve, the country became 
more barren; yet the ancient caravan-road was always marked with 
potai, or flattened pyramids of clay. Some of our nights were spent in 
large caravansaries, where the drinking-water was obtained from deep 
wells. One of them was a hundred and twenty-six feet deep. 

Kum-rabat-padshahim, or ‘My King’s Serai in the Sand,” was a 
point on the road where thousands of sacred pigeons filled the air with 
their cooing, and with the sound of wing-beats, when they flew. Every 
traveller must bring the pigeons an offering of maize; and we carried a 
whole bagful just for that purpose. Standing there, feeding the 
beautiful blue-grey birds, I became enveloped in a cloud of pigeons, which 
boldly settled down on my shoulders, cap, and arms. High poles, hung 
with rags, represented offerings, and served as scarecrows against birds 
of prey. But the pious folk on the spot assured me, that if a falcon 
were to capture a pigeon, the falcon itself would be sure to die. 

On January 5, we arrived at Khotan, in ancient times called Kustana, 
in Sanskrit, known to the Chinese for thousands of years, and revealed 
to Europe by Marco Polo. Fa Hien (400 a.p.), the famous Chinese 
monk, describes Khotan as a magnificent city, where the cult of Buddha 
flourished. 


P=: kept me in Kashgar a long while. Meanwhile, the new 


£85 


186 MY wGIEE AS) AN sexe OR ak 


A legend, dating from 632 A.D., tells of an ancient town, buried in 
the desert-sand. It was said that in the village of Pima, west of 
Khotan, there had then been an image of Buddha, in sandalwood, twenty 
feet high, which glowed with light. Before that, it had belonged to 
the town of Ho-lao-lo-kia, farther north. Once a sage came to Ho-lao- 
lo-kia, to worship at this image of Buddha. The inhabitants treated 
him harshly, seized him, and buried him up to his neck. A pious man 
brought food to him secretly, and eventually rescued him. Before 
hastening away, the sage said to his saviour: ‘Within seven days, Ho- 
lao-lo-kia shall be buried by sand from heaven, and thou alone shalt be 
saved.’ The pious man warned the people in the town; but they all 
laughed him to scorn. Then he took refuge ina cave. On the seventh 
day, there came a rain of sand, which buried the town, and suffocated 
every person in it. The pious man crept out of the cave and went to 
Pima. Hardly had he arrived, when the sacred image of Buddha came 
flying through the air, having chosen Pima as its sanctuary in place of 
the buried Ho-lao-lo-kia. 

A Chinese traveller of the same period—the T’ang dynasty—writes 
of the desert regions north of Khotan: “There is neither water nor 
vegetation, but a hot wind often rises, which takes away the breath of 
man, horse, and beast, and not seldom is the cause of sickness. You 
hear almost always shrill whistlings, or loud shouts; and when you try 
to discover whence they come, you are terrified at finding nothing. It 
very often happens that men get lost, for that place is the abode of evil 
spirits. After four hundred li, you come to the ancient kingdom of 
Tu-ho-lo. It is a long time since that country was changed into a desert. 
All its towns lie in ruins and are overgrown with wild plants.” 

No wonder, then, that in spite of my unfortunate journey into the 
desert the preceding spring, I was again drawn irresistibly toward the 
mysterious country under the eternal sand! The inhabitants of the 
oasis of Khotan, which extends round the town of the same name, told 
me of buried towns; and two men offered to guide me to one of those 
cities for a liberal remuneration. 

In Khotan, as also in the ancient village of Borasan, I bought antique 
relics from the natives: small objects in terra-cotta, representing two- 
humped camels; monkeys playing the guitar; griffins, on the Indian 
“Garuda” motif; lion-heads which had adorned jars of the Greco- 
Buddhistic or Indo-Hellenic school, and which betrayed the Greek in- 


POULSCOVER CREEPERS EN Dirk. DESERT 182 


fluence after Alexander; beautifully-executed jars and bowls in terra- 
cotta; images of Buddha; and other things. My collection numbered 
523 articles, not counting some ancient manuscripts and a mass of coins. 
I also purchased some Christian gold coins, a cross, and a medal with a 
representation of “St. Andrea Avelin’” worshipping before a crucifix, 
and, on the reverse, St. Irene crowned with a nimbus. Marco Polo 
speaks of Nestorian and Jacobite sects, which, in 1275, had their own 
churches in Khotan. 

Liu Darin, the city governor, was an elderly, amiable, and benevolent 
Chinese. He assisted me in all my enterprises and purchases, and did 
not object to my visiting an old river-bed, where nephrite was to be 
found. There the Chinese obtained the beautiful jade, which they 
esteem so highly. It appears in kidney-shaped pieces among the 
boulders. It is mostly green. Yellow jade, or white, with brown spots, 
is the most precious. 

On January 14, I was again ready to leave. ‘This time I travelled 
lighter than ever before, taking only four men, three camels, and two 
donkeys. ‘The journey was to be only a quite short one, namely, to the 
sand-covered city of which I had heard. I therefore took only enough 
provisions for a few weeks, and left my heavy baggage, most of my 
money, my Chinese passport, the tent, etc., with a merchant in Khotan. I 
wanted to sleep under the open sky, the same as my men, though the 
temperature might sink to —6°. 

Actually, four and a half months were to pass, before we returned 
to Khotan; and part of this expedition became a veritable Crusoe ro- 
mance. When I took leave of Liu Darin, he wanted to give me two 
camels, because he thought my caravan was much too small. But I 
refused his kind offer. 

My four men were Islam Bai, Kerim Jan, and the two hunters— 
Ahmed Mergen and his son Kasim Ahun—who had taken part in the 
expedition of Islam Bai the year before, after our disaster in the 
desert. We also took along the two men who had promised to show 
us the ancient town. 

We followed the Yurun-kash, the eastern head-stream of the Khotan- 
daria, to the village of ‘Tavek-kel, where my Swedish army-revolver had 
been found. Our search for the rest of the outfit was fruitless. In fact, 
it was not conducted at all vigorously; for I had replaced everything 
that had been lost, except the cameras. 


188 MY CLIFF E\ AS. (AWN GE PO RRR 


On January 19, we left the river, and again wormed our way into 
the deadly, sandy desert. But this time it was winter. Our water- 
supply, in four goatskins, froze into chunks of ice. At our camps, we 
found water by digging from five to seven feet; and if we had walked 
eastward, we would have been near the Keriya-daria, which runs north, 
parallel to the Khotan-daria. 

The dunes in this part of the desert were not as high as those in 
the region where our caravan had been lost the year before. Their 
ridges were thirty-five to forty feet high. 

On the fourth day, we camped in a hollow, where a dead, dried-up 
forest provided us with excellent fuel. The next day we went to the 
ruins of the ancient city, which our guides called Takla-makan, or 
Dandan-uilik, the “Ivory Houses.’’ Most of the houses were buried in 
the sand. But here and there, posts and wooden walls stuck out of the 
dunes; and on one of the walls, which was possibly three feet high, we 
discovered several figures, artistically executed in plaster. They repre- 
sented Buddha and Buddhistic deities, some standing, some seated on 
lotus-leaves, all robed in ample draperies, their heads encircled by 
flaming aureoles. All these finds, and many other relics, were wrapped 
up carefully, and packed in my boxes; and the fullest possible notes on 
the ancient city, its location, sand-covered canals, dead-poplar avenues, 
and dried-up apricot-orchards were entered in my diary. I was not 
equipped to make a thorough excavation; and, besides, I was not an 
archeologist. ‘The scientific research I willingly left to the specialists. 
In a few years, they too would be sinking their spades into the loose 
sand. For me it was sufficient to have made the important discovery, 
and to have won, in the heart of the desert, a new field for archeology. 
And now, at last, I felt rewarded and encouraged, after the preceding 
year’s vain search for traces of a dead civilization. The ancient Chi- 
nese geographers, as well as the present-day natives living on the edge 
of the desert, were now vindicated. My rejoicing over this first find, 
which was to be followed by similar discoveries in later years, is evident 
from notes made at the time. 

‘No explorer,” I wrote, ‘‘had an inkling, Ptean of the existence 
of this ancient city. Here I stand, like the prince in the enchanted 
wood, having wakened to new life the city which has slumbered for a 
thousand years.” 

During several successive sandstorms, I measured the rate at which 


I DISCOVER CITIES IN THE DESERT ‘$189 


sand-dunes move; and, guided by that, and by the course of the pre- 
vailing winds, I calculated that it had taken about two thousand years 
for the sand-desert to extend from the region of the ancient city to its 
present southern border. Discoveries made at a later date warrant the 
conclusion that the age of the ancient city was about two thousand years. 

On receiving their well-earned pay, the two guides returned over our 
trail. The following morning, we continued on our way through the 
eternal sand. 

The air was laden with the finest dust. In the dense haze, we had 
not even an idea of where the sun was in the sky. ‘The dunes grew in 
height. We climbed the crest of a sand-wave one hundred and twenty 
feet high, wondering whether we were headed toward another such 
murderous labyrinth as that of the year before. Because of the haze, 
we could discern nothing in the east. It was as though a curtain had 
been drawn in front of us, and as if we were walking towards an un- 
known abyss. Yet we went on, and nothing untoward happened. The 
dunes became lower and lower, gradually merging into level, soft, sandy 
ground. One evening, we camped in the forest, on the banks of the 
Keriya-daria. The river was a hundred and five feet wide here, and 
covered with thick ice. ‘The camels got liberal rations of grass, and 
drank their fill, after the desert-journey. No human beings were in 
sight. There was only a deserted shepherd’s hut. We built a big log- 
fire, and kept it burning through the night. The winter cold did us no 
harm. Sleeping in the open brought nothing but satisfaction. 

No European had ever followed the course of this river to its or 
in the desert-sand, and nobody knew where the last drops of water dis- 
appeared after their hopeless struggle with the dunes. I decided, there- 
fore, to follow the river northwards to its very end. It served us as 
a guide, and thus we were independent of men. Not a shepherd was 
to be seen; and we had killed our last sheep. But there were lots of 
hares, roe-deer, and red deer, so we had no fear of hunger. On the 
banks, we would occasionally disturb whole families of boars, which 
fled noisily into the dense growths of reed. Sometimes we also sur- 
prised a fox, who would dart subtly and speedily into the forest-glen. 

Ahmed Mergen, the elder deer-hunter, once made an excursion into 
the woods, and returned with a shepherd. The shepherd told us he 
had thought we were robbers and that his last hour had come. We 


190 MYOCLINE AS tA NPE XP ROR 


camped beside his reed hut. All the information which he and his wife 
could give me, was duly set down in my diary. 

“What is your name?” I asked. 

‘‘Hassan and Hussein,” he replied. 

““How’s that? Have you two names?” 

“Yes. But Hassan is really the name of my twin brother, who lives 
in Kertya.”’ 

On our way northward, through the river-forests, we met shepherds 
constantly. In order to get information about the various forest re- 
gions, and their names, we always took one or two shepherds with us. 
In this way we got farther north, day by day. ‘The frozen river ex- 
tended much farther into the desert than we thought. I measured its 
width, across the ice, and found it to exceed three hundred feet. Fur- 
ther down, where the Keriya-daria became wider, it frequently appeared 
majestic, between its wooded banks. Every morning brought new 
excitement. How far would we be able to go before the river merged 
into the surrounding sand, which, in some places, extended to the very 
brink? Finally, I hatched the hazardous plan of crossing the desert as 
far as to the Tarim River, which must be its northern frontier, if the 
river flowed far enough. 

Near Tonkuz-basste (the Hanging Wild Boar), a shepherd told me 
that by striking out into the sand to the northwest, we would soon find 
the ruins of an ancient town, named Kara-dung (the Black Hill). 

February 2 and 3 were devoted to it. Here, too, we found houses 
buried in the sand, the largest of them measuring 280 by 250 feet, and 
many traces of other structures made by human hands, dating from the 
period when Buddha’s teachings prevailed in the far interior of Asia. 
The site of this town, too, was carefully determined, so that archzolo- 
gists would be sure to find it later on. 

Thereupon we continued our journey, through forests and fields of 
reed. The river showed a tendency to divide into a number of branches, 
and to form inland deltas. On February 5, we encountered four shep- 
herds, in charge of eight hundred sheep and six cows. Two days later, 
Mohammed Bai, an old denizen of the forest, told us that the point 
where the river died out in the sand was only another day and a half’s 
journey distant. He lived in such seclusion, that he did not know 
whether Yakub Bek (died 1878) or the Emperor of China ruled over 
East Turkestan. He also told me that no tiger had been seen in the 


IDISCOVER CITIES IN THE DESERT $191 


last three years. The last one had clawed one of Mohammed Bai’s 
cows, after which it went northward, but only to return. Finally it 
struck out across the desert toward the east. 

‘‘How far does the desert reach to the north, from the point where 
the river ends?” I asked. And Mohammed Bai replied: 

‘To the end of the world. And it takes three months to get there.” 


CHAP T.B RX xX V 
The Wild Camels’ Paradise 


N February 8, we camped at a point where the river was hardly 

fifty feet wide; and at our next camping-place, the ice-crust had 

- narrowed to fifteen feet. The forest was still luxuriant, and 

the reed-fields so impenetrable, that we had either to make 

detours or use the axes to blaze a path. Parts of boar-trails formed 
veritable tunnels through tangled growths of reeds. 

I shall never forget the thrill with which I saw the thin crust of ice 
end, like the point of an arrow, at the base of a dune! 

But for one more day we walked through real jungle, and the river- 
bed was plainly visible. In its deepest hollows, we dug for water, and 
with success. On all sides rose the yellow crests of dunes. 

As far back as February 1, we had heard the shepherds tell of the 
wild camel, whose habitat was in the sand below the delta of the river. 
With rising excitement I longed to see this wonderful animal, whose 
existence in this part of the large desert no European had hitherto sus- 
pected. Przhevalsky, who brought the skin of a wild camel home to St. 
Petersburg, in 1877, assures us that the royal animal is to be found only 
far to the east of where we then were, in the Lop-nor Desert. In that 
region, General Pievtsoff, his officers, and Mr. Littledale had succeeded 
in shooting a few specimens, which they likewise took home. Accord- 
ing to the shepherds, the wild camel travels in small herds. ‘They 
avoid the forests and undergrowth, and roam in the open. ‘They never 
drink water in the winter, but only in the summer, when high water 
reaches further north. ‘They are frequently the victims of deer-hunters. 
The truth of these statements was confirmed by several things, as, for 
example, the fact that several shepherds wore shoes made of wild-camel 
skin, taken from the feet;—horny nails, pads, and all. 

One of the shepherds told us that God had sent a spirit to the earth 
in the form of a dervish, and had bidden him go to Hazret Ibrahim 


(the Patriarch Abraham) to ask him for a flock of domestic animals. 
192 


Bete Wo De Ca NE tres eos KAD TS 193 


Abraham complied with the dervish’s request so generously, that he im- 
poverished himself. Then God ordered the dervish to return all the 
animals to Abraham. But Abraham refused to take back what he had 
once given. ‘Then God’s anger was aroused, and He commanded the 
animals to wander about homeless on the earth. Any man, who so 
wished, might kill them. The sheep became wild sheep, the goats wild 
goats, the yaks wild yaks, the horses wild horses, and the camels also ran 
wild. | 

Old Mohammed Bai, whose gun was impotent at a range greater 
than one hundred and fifty feet, had shot three wild camels that year. 
He told us that they were in the greatest terror of smoke from camp- 
fires, and that no sooner did they scent burning wood than they fled 
into the desert. 

I am not a hunter myself; and I never was. This is not because of 
the first commandment of Buddha, not to destroy life. But I have 
always been unable to bring myself to extinguish a flame that I could 
not light again. Least of all could I kill such a noble animal as the wild 
camel. He was master in his desert land, whereas I was a mere in- 
truder. On the other hand, I have always taken hunters along with 
me, deeming it necessary, not only for the sake of provisions, but also 
for the sake of scientific collections. Islam Bai handled the Berdan rifle 
skilfully; and Ahmed Mergen and his son Kasim were professional 
huntsmen. None of my four servants had ever seen a wild camel; and 
it had long been a dream of mine to see the stately animal move majes- 
tically over the sand. 

With ever-growing tension, we marched north, on February 11, be- 
tween dunes of increasing height, seeing the river-bed becoming less and 
less distinct. Only now and again we sighted a solitary poplar, but 
more often dead, withered tree-trunks, brittle as glass. It was a hun- 
dred and fifty miles of sand-desert, as the crow flies, to the Tarim River, 
a distance greater than that covered by the caravan which was destroyed 
between April 23 and May 5, the year before. And now we could take 
no more water than four goatskins would hold! It was a bold venture. 
But the winter cold was to our advantage. Would we succeed? Or 
was there a new disaster awaiting us? Is it any wonder that we watched 
the dunes grow, and the vegetation vanish, with breathless tension? 

On February 9, we saw the first signs of wild camels—a tuft of light 
reddish-brown hair stuck on a tamarisk bush. But on the next day, 


194 MY LIFE AS AN EXPLORER 


we came across many fresh tracks, crossing the sand in various direc- 
tions. On the eleventh, we kept a sharp lookout. Kasim, the hunter, 
went ahead, shouldering his primitive flint-lock. 

Suddenly he stopped, as though struck by lightning. He motioned 
for us to stop, crouched down, and crept among the bushes like a panther. 
I hurried forward. A shot rang out. It was a small herd. The ani- 
mals started, gazing in our direction. ‘Then they turned right around, 
and fled. But their leader, a twelve-year-old male, took only a few 
steps, and fell. 

We camped on the spot. The fallen desert-king was a beautiful 
specimen. He measured ten feet, ten inches, in length, and seven feet 
in girth. ‘The rest of the day we devoted to skinning him, and covering 
the inside of the skin with heated sand, to make the burden lighter. 


THE FIRST WILD CAMELS WE CAME ACROSS 


We dug a well, in a depression; but even at the depth of ten and a 
half feet it yielded no water. We therefore resolved to stay where we 
were for one day longer, and not advance so far into the desert as to 
jeopardize our return. 

The well was made deeper; and at a little more than thirteen and a 
half feet, water began to trickle. It was gradually transferred to a 
bucket, and hauled up. The camels and donkeys were allowed to drink 
their fill, Then the four goatskins were filled. 

The following day, we proceeded into the unknown desert. One 
of the donkeys carried the skin of the wild camel. The river-bed was 


THE WILD CAMELS’ PARADISE 195 


still visible; but toward evening, it disappeared under the moving dunes, 
which were now twenty-five feet high. 

On our left, we saw a herd of six camels—one old male, two young 
ones, and three females. The old male was shot by Islam Bai. The 
fat in his humps, as also some pieces of flesh, were removed, and the 
hair was cut off, to be made into twine and rope. Before I could pre- 
vent it, Islam had shot a she-camel, in a second herd of five animals. She 
sank into the posture in which camels usually rest. We hurried to 
her, and I made a few sketches, while she was still alive. She did not 
look at us, but seemed to be in despair at having to part forever with 
her otherwise inviolate desert land. Before she died, she opened her 
mouth, and, bit into the sand. I now forbade any more shooting. 

I was surprised to find the wild camels so little on their guard. When 
the wind was against us, we were able to get within two hundred feet 
of them. They would gaze in our direction; and, if they lay ruminat- 
ing, they would rise. The last-mentioned herd ran about fifty steps, 
repeated this twice, stopped, and looked attentively at us, and seemed 
so preoccupied by their curiosity, that its members forgot to flee. The 
hunters had therefore no difficulty in getting within range. 

Our three tame camels got quite frantic when they saw their wild 
relatives. It was their rutting-season. They roared dully, lashed their 
backs with their tails, and ground their teeth, the foam dropping in 
white flakes from their mouths. When they saw the dying she-camel, 
they were quite beside themselves, and had to be tethered. They rolled 
their eyes, and bellowed horribly with passion. At night, they were 
always tethered, else they would have run away to their free kindred 
in the desert. | 

During the next days, we sighted several herds, as well as single 
camels; and finally we became so used to the beasts, that they ceased 
to arouse any particular attention. But I, for my part, never tired of 
following their movements with my field-glasses. I enjoyed a com- 
manding view from my tall riding-camel; and I saw them move along 
with ease across the sand, now ambling, now at a gallop. Their humps 
were smaller and firmer than those of the tame ones, whose humps are 
pressed down by pack-saddles and burdens. 

Every step took us deeper into the great, unknown desert, and 
further away from the last delta-arms of the Keriya-daria. As late 
as February 14, we could still see traces of the old river-bed. Luck 


196 MY «LIFE AS AN EXPLORER 


was with us. Every evening, we succeeded in obtaining water at a 
depth of five or six feet. The next day, the dunes rose to more than 
one hundred feet, and there was much dead forest. One day more, 
and we were surprised to find an oasis, of seventy vigorous poplars, 
in a hollow. We saw the track of a panther; and dry camel-droppings 
were plentiful. The cold was bitter, but we did not lack fuel. We 
always encamped not far from dead tree-trunks. I lay on my stomach, 
on the sand, writing up my diary, by the light of the camp-fire; while 
my men prepared the evening meal, looked after the animals, dug a 
well, or collected fuel. I was monarch of all I surveyed! Never 
before had a white man set foot on this part of the earth’s surface. 
I was the first one. Every step was a new conquest for human 
knowledge. | 

On February 17, the goatskins were empty; but we found water at 
six feet. It trickled so slowly, that we secured only enough for the 
men and to fill one skin. The next day, the dunes rose to a hundred 
and thirty feet, and only high, barren sand was visible to the north. 
The men now became depressed. We used up the water in the last goat- 
skin, and in the evening all our digging was in vain. The hay from 
a pack-saddle was given to the camels to eat. The trail of a fox, which 
went north, inspired us with the hope that the Tarim forests might 
not be far away. 

When we broke camp, on February 19, without a drop of water, 
we resolved that if we found no water in the evening, we would return 
to the place of our last supply. 

Thus we walked on. Camel-tracks were again numerous. ‘The 
dunes grew lower; and, in the hollows between them, we often found 
wind-driven leaves from forest-trees. We halted at a field of reeds, 
for the sake of the camels. We found water at five feet, but it was 
so salty, that even the thirsty camels refused to drink it. 

In spite of this, we decided to continue northward. We had not 
gone far, when the dunes dwindled to an insignificant height. From 
the crest of one of the last of them, we saw the dark line of the forests 
of the Tarim in the distance. In what was once an arm of the river, 
we came upon a frozen pool, where we should have camped. But we 
thought the river was so near, we might as well walk on. And on we 
went, through patches of reeds and forests. One hour after another 
passed. Evening surrounded us with its twilight; and at nightfall we 


Paleo W Lie Dy CANE SPAR A DLS E 197 


were literally stuck fast in an impenetrable thicket. Here we spent a 
second night without water. 

At daybreak, we broke through the thicket, and again found a frozen 
pool, where we camped, and where man and beast drank without stint. 
The following day we crossed the ice-lid of the Tarim, five hundred 
and twenty feet wide. I released Ahmed Mergen and his son Kasim, 
and they returned to Khotan. In addition to their remuneration in 
money, I gave them the donkeys. They took with them, to Khotan, 
the wild-camel hide. 

By the time we reached the small town of Shah-yar, forty-one days 
had passed. We had crossed the huge desert, had mapped all the 
hitherto unknown lower part of a river, discovered two ancient cities, 
and the hardly-accessible paradise of the wild camel. 

Not wishing to return to Khotan, my headquarters, along roads 
that I knew already, I decided to take the long, roundabout route, across 
the Lop-nor, in the east, and then ride back to Khotan along the southern 
road, once traversed by Marco Polo. It was a route of some twelve 
hundred miles. Our provisions were used up; but we could live on the 
same food as the natives. I had not brought any maps of the eastern 
regions; but I was prepared to make new ones myself. I had left my 
Chinese passport in Khotan, but we might possibly manage without it. 
My diaries and sketch-books were full, so I bought Chinese paper in 
Shah-yar. My supply of tobacco had gone up in smoke, so I would 
have to content myself with a Chinese water-pipe and the sour, native 
tobacco. 

Temir Bek, the chieftain of Shah-yar, asked to see my Chinese pass- 
port. As it was impossible for me to show it, he declared that the road 
to the east was closed to us. But we outwitted him, and escaped sur- 
reptitiously into the thickets of the Tarim, leaving no trace. 


CHAPTER XXXVI 
Retreating Twelve Hundred Miles 


S space in this book is limited, I must make the long journey 
to Khotan at breakneck speed; and I am the more willing to 
do so, because of the opportunity a later chapter will afford 
me of returning to the most interesting part of it, the Lop 

Desert and the moving lake of Lop-nor. 

For two weeks we travelled through the forests along the banks 
of the Tarim, always with shepherds to guide us. I derived special 
pleasure from the wild geese, which had begun to flit at that season. 
They were seen daily, in flocks of from thirty to fifty, flying east. As 
long as the sun was up, they rose high above the earth; but after dark, 
they flew low. At night we could hear their gabbling conversation, 
on the invisible roads of the air. It was evident that they were all 
flying along exactly the same route. 

On March 10, we were in the little town of Korla, and were received 
hospitably by Kul Mohammed, of Margelan, the aksakal, or ‘‘white- 
beard,” of the merchants from West Turkestan. He rode with me to 
the town of Kara-shahr—a profitable excursion, from the scientific 
point of view—where I risked calling on Hven Darin, the Chinese 
governor. I entered his yamen, and told him frankly that I had no 
passport. 

‘““A passport!’’ exclaimed this courteous gentleman, with a pleasant 
smile. ‘You do not need any passport. You are our friend and guest. 
You are your own passport.” 

And he added to his kindness by providing me with a document 
that facilitated our way everywhere in his own province. 

When I returned to Korla, Islam Bai told me, with a lump in his 
throat, that he had had an unpleasant experience during my absence. 
One day, he was sitting quite peacefully in the bazaar, talking to a 
West Turkestan merchant, when a Chinese chieftain, with four soldiers, 


rode by. ‘They carried a pole with an emblem of the power of the 
198 


RETREATING 199 


Emperor. Everybody had to rise, as a mark of respect to this symbol. 
But Islam, being a Russian subject, sat still. Thereupon the Chinese 
soldiers halted, seized him, bared his neck, and flogged him till the 
blood flowed. 

The insulted man foamed with rage against his tormentors, and 
demanded revenge and satisfaction. I wrote to Li Daloi, the com- 
mander, asking where it was written that Chinese soldiers could beat 


nee 
ns 


THE CITY GATE OF KARA-SHAHR 


Russian subjects, and making an imperative demand that the culprit 
be punished. Li Daloi came to me instantly, begged pardon, and 
regretted that the guilty persons could not be identified. I then 
demanded that the entire Jansa (troop) should be paraded, and Islam 
took it upon himself to point out the guilty man. 

‘There he is,”’ cried Islam, as the perpetrator of the outrage passed. 
Now it was this poor sinner’s turn to get a thrashing. And so, justice 
having been appeased, Islam declared himself satisfied; and Li Daloi 
marched off with his Jansa. 

We bought a little flame-coloured puppy at Korla, an Asiatic savage, 
who inherited Yoldash’s name, and soon became everyone’s favourite. 
When I left Korla, at the end of March, accompanied by Islam, Kerim 
Jan, two natives who knew the road well, and our three camels and 
four horses, following the left bank of the Konche-daria, the largest 
tributary of the lower Tarim, going southeast, Yoldash was still too 
young to go with us on his own legs. Ensconced in a basket, on top of 
one of the camels, he became terribly seasick from the constant swaying 
to and fro, In time, he grew, developed, and became my best friend. 


200 MY “LIFE (AS) ANGE ROPE Oc 


He went with me through Tibet and China, to Peking, through Mon- 
golia and Siberia, to St. Petersburg, and would have made his entry 
into Stockholm, too, had I not heard that it was impossible for me to 
bring him in, because of rabies in Russia. [ therefore boarded him with 
Professor Backlund, a fellow countryman of mine, who was Director 
of the Pulkova Observatory, and intended to fetch him when the quar- 
antine had been removed. But Yoldash was an Asiatic savage, and 
remained one, being used to. defend our caravan against all sorts of 
more or less imaginary enemies; and he was totally devoid of the polish 
of civilization necessary for a respectable house in Pulkova. To start 
with, he bit to death every cat he could get hold of, within a radius of 
half a mile; and later on, he became too expensive a luxury, because 
of his taste for tearing the trousers of visitors to the observatory. And 
when, finally, he bit an old woman in the leg, Backlund considered it the 
part of wisdom to board him with a peasant, at an appreciable distance 
from Pulkova. Thus I lost track of my faithful travelling-companion, 
and I am still in the dark as to the end of this hero’s tale-—But at 
this point of my story, he was in the bloom of youth, on his first voyage, 
and Jay whining in his rocking basket on a camel’s back, on the bank 
of the Konche-daria. 

Our goal was the inland delta of the Tarim, and the Lop-nor. 
Marco Polo was the first European to write about the Lop Desert, and 
the large city of the same name. The famous Venetian merchant did 
not know the lake of Lop-nor. But the Chinese had known of its 
existence, and its geographical location, for several hundred years; and 
they had indicated the lake on maps at various periods. ‘The first 
European to penetrate to its shores was the great Russian general, 
Przhevalsky, during his journey of 1876-77. He found the lake a full 
degree farther to the south than the Lop-nor of the Chinese maps. 
This caused Baron von Richthofen, the famous explorer of China, to 
advance the theory that, because of changes in the Tarim delta in 
subsequent years, the lake had moved one degree to the south. 

Four expeditions (those of Carey and Dalgleish, of Bonvalot and 
Prince Henry of Orleans, of Littledale, and of Pievtsoff and his officers) 
visited the Lop-nor after Przhevalsky; and all of them faithfully fol- 
lowed the track of the Russian general. None of them seem to have 
considered the importance of ascertaining whether there were any other 
waterways farther east. I wanted now to make this investigation. It 


RETREATING 201 


was the first step toward a solution of the Lop-nor problem, which 
later aroused so much debate. 

Already, on my way to the delta, I heard of an eastern waterway, 
fed mainly by the Konche-daria, forming a whole string of lakes east 
of the route my predecessors had once followed, and situated on the 
same degree of latitude as the Lop-nor of the Chinese. I followed 
the eastern shore of all these lakes. They were nearly overgrown with 
reeds. In 1893, Kozloff, a Russian captain, discovered a river-arm, 
long since dried up, which had once been the bed of the Konche-daria, 
and which seemed to continue eastward from a point above my chain 
of lakes. The natives called it ‘“The Sand River” or “The Dry River.”’ 
During a later expedition, I was to have the opportunity of mapping 
out its entire course, and of discovering its importance. 

Thus we travelled south along the lakes. Sand-dunes, forests, some 
old and dead, others fresh and living, and vast fields of reed made 
progress difficult. At Tikkenlik, a little village, we had great trouble 
in taking the camels across the Konche-daria. The water was still too 
cold for them to swim across. So we tied a few of the natives’ long, 
narrow canoes together, covered them with boards and reeds, and took 
first one camel across, and then the two others. The poor animals were 
frightened, they resisted desperately, and had to be tethered on board 
the strange ferry-boat. 

It had now grown warm. By day, the temperature was 91.6°; 
and in the evenings, and at night, we were much tormented by gnats. 
I smeared tobacco-oil on my face and hands; and on one occasion we 
set fire to a whole field of dense, dry reeds, to keep the bloodthirsty 
insects away. It sounded like rifle-shots, when the reed-stalks burst 
from the heat; and all night we lay under that constant crackling. The 
flames swept across the quiet region, and it grew as light as day. 

From Kum-chekkeh, a fishing-place, Islam went on along the main 
road, to a spot we had agreed upon, where the arms of the delta met. 
I myself hired a canoe, twenty feet long, and one and a half foot broad, 
hollowed out of a poplar-trunk, and went with two oarsmen along the 
long watercourse, over lakes and river-branches, to the rendezvous. It 
was a delightful voyage! I sat amidships, as in an easy-chair, with 
compass, watch, and map on my lap, and mapped out our route. 
Yoldash, who lay at my feet, found this mode of travelling more pleasant 


202 MY LIFE“AS “AN EXPLORER 


than rocking on the camel’s back. The oarsmen stood erect, dipping 
their thin, broad-bladed paddles almost perpendicularly into the water. 
The canoe glided so swiftly through the water, that there were eddies 
about its stern. ‘The banks glided past. There was a swishing and 
creaking sound, as we broke through the dense growth of reeds. One 
of my oarsmen, old Kurban, had hunted in this region for fifty years, 
and remembered the time when the country was dry, and when, twenty 
years before, he had killed a wild camel and sold its skin to the first 
European who had ever appeared in this country, namely, Przhevalsky. 

One day, a first-rate kara-buran, or black storm, swept the country, 
and the majestic old poplars meekly bowed their heads before the wind. 
We could not think of going out in the canoe. We lay quietly waiting, 
in reed huts, the inhabitants of which received us hospitably and treated 
us to fresh-caught fish, wild duck, goose-eggs, and reed-shoots. All the 
time, we lived on native food, which, 
supplemented by salt, bread, and tea, 
was quite excellent. 

A few days later we arrived at Ab- 
dal, a small village, composed of the 
most primitive reed huts, on the bank 
of the Tarim, just above the point 
where the river emptied into the Lop- 
nor. The chieftain of the place, eighty- 
year-old Kunchekkan Bek (the Chief 
of the Rising Sun), had been a friend 
of Przhevalsky, and received us with 
the greatest hospitality. He told us 
of wonderful events in his own life, 
} about rivers, lakes, deserts, and beasts, 
KUNCHEKKAN BEK, OR “THE CHIEF OF and he invited me to a long canoe- 

THE RISING SUN,” A FORMER FRIEND excursion eastward across this strange 

OF PRZHEVALSKY, WHO BECAME MY . . 

bat ie combination of reed-marsh and fresh- 

water lake. | 
The Tarim branched off into several arms below Abdal. We fol- 
lowed one of them; and before long, we saw in front of us a growth 
of reeds, which seemed to form an effective bar to our journey. But 
our oarsmen knew how to manage. ‘They steered the canoe to the 
opening of a corridor in the reed-palisade. This corridor was so narrow, 


RETREATING 203 


that we could not see the water below us, nor the sky above. These 
labyrinths of narrow canals among the reeds were permanently navi- 
gable, because the reeds were uprooted and new growths checked. Here 
the small nets of plant-fibre were set in long rows; and here the delicious 
fish were caught, which constitute the staple food of the Lop men. 
The tallest reeds I measured were twenty-five feet, from the root 
to the pasque-flower. At the level of the water, one could hardly encircle 
them with one’s thumb and middle finger. Here and there, the reeds 


ane Sy \\i\' N , ANN IN N NAY 
Bt ve AY We em 
es Ane yess 


Widest. spss: . = 


= ep eee ee 
= <= - 


NARROW, DARK CORRIDORS IN THE REED-THICKETS 


were battered and broken by heavy storms, and were so densely matted 
that we could walk on them. ‘The wild geese used to lay their eggs 
in such places; and a couple of times one of my guides, as supple as a 
cat, jumped over to such a roof of broken, entangled reeds, as we passed 
by, and returned with his arms full of fine goose-eggs. 

Toward evening, we glided out of the close, narrow passages, and 
reached wide, open water, where innumerable flocks of wild geese, wild 
ducks, swans, and other water-fowl swam about. We camped, on the 
northern bank, in the open, and went on, the next day, to the end of 
the lake. In the evening, we returned, in brilliant moonlight. It was 
a nocturnal journey in a Venetian atmosphere, in the heart of Asia. 


204 MY LIFE SAS AN? XE LD Ou Ro 


There remained the six-hundred-and-twenty-mile stretch from Abdal 
to Khotan; and I wanted to cover that distance as quickly as possible. 
This could only be done with horses; and so, in the little town of 
Charkhlik, with an aching heart, I sold the three veteran camels which 
had so signally helped us in our important discoveries in the geographical 
and archeological fields. I was particularly sorry to part with the 
splendid camel which had for so long carried me through desert and 
forest, and which, every morning, had given me a poke with its nose, 


P sis Hal are 


' 


vo ychet 


OUR PASSAGE BLOCKED BY REEDS 


to wake me and to remind me of the two cakes of maize-bread that 
were its due. But now the moment of parting had come. The merchant 
who bought them came to fetch them himself. I hated him; and there 
were tears in my eyes, when I saw the camels disappear from the empty 
court. Patiently and calmly, and with majestic mien, they went away 
to new toil and new adventures. 

We soon had something else to think about. Li Darin, the civil 
governor, sent a messenger to my house, asking to see my passport. 
I answered that I had left it behind, in Khotan. Li Darin thereupon 
informed me that the road to the west, leading to Khotan, was closed 
to me, but that I might return the same way I had come! And if I 


RETREATING 205 


tried to take the shorter way, via Cherchen and Keriya, against his 
orders, he would have me arrested! 

There I stood, facing a journey through forests and deserts, in the 
suffocating summer heat, and by roads that I had already charted! In 
the evening, Shi Darin, the commandant, came to my quarters to call 
on me. He was an amiable and sensible man; and he informed himself 
thoroughly of my travels. 

“Was that you,” he asked, “who last year lost your caravan, and 
yourself almost perished from thirst, in the Takla-makan Desert?” 

I confirmed his surmise; and he was pleased beyond all bounds, and 
asked me for a detailed account of my adventures. He listened, as a 
child listens to a wonderful story. In the end, I complained of Li 
Darin’s severity; but Shi Darin begged me not to worry. 

The next day I paid him a return-visit. 

“What about my arrest?” I inquired. 

Shi Darin laughed loudly, and said: 

“Ti Darin is crazy. I am the commandant; and without me he 
cannot get a soldier to arrest you. You just take the shortest way to 
Khotan. I will take care of the rest.” 

I thanked him for his kindness, bought four new horses, bade fare- 
well once more to our faithful camels, and rode through the woods of 
the Cherchen-daria, to Kopa—a place where gold-dust is extracted from 
the river-bed—and finally, via Keriya, to Khotan, where we—three 
dusty horsemen—made our entrance on May 27. 


CHAPTER XxXVII 


A Detective-Story from the Heart of Asia 


Y first task, after returning to Khotan, was to call on Liu 

Darin, the governor. And then the whole sequel to our 

disastrous desert-journey began to unfold itself like a 

thrilling detective-story. Some of the men whom we had 

regarded as rescuing angels the year before, were now revealed as rascals 
and thieves. 

It seems that Yusur, one of the three merchants who gave Islam 
Bai water, and thus saved his life, visited Said Akhram Bai, the aksakal, 
or ‘‘white-beard,” of the West Turkestan merchants, in Khotan, and 
gave him a revolver, in order to secure his silence and good-will. But 
Said Akhram, having been forewarned by Consul Petrovsky, subjected 
Yusur to a sharp examination. Thereupon Yusur confessed that Togda 
Bek, chief of Tavek-kel, had presented him with the revolver. Said 
Akhram immediately handed the weapon over to Liu Darin, who, in 
turn, sent it to Dao Tai, in Kashgar. It was the same Swedish army- 
revolver that Dao Tai had returned to me. 

On feeling the ground give way under him, Yusur fled to Urumchi. 
Said Akhram sent a cunning spy to the village of Tavek-kel, where he 
obtained a position with Togdasin Bek as keeper of his sheep. One 
day, the spy-shepherd went to Togdasin Bek’s house, to ask for his 
wages. He was prevented from entering. But he had already seen 
how Togda Bek and three other men were sitting crouched around some 
dusty old boxes, the contents of which were scattered about the earthen 
floor. These three men were Ahmed Mergen and his sons, Kasim 
Ahun and Togda Shah, the hunters who had accompanied Islam on 
the expedition of recovery after the destruction of our caravan in the 
desert. Two of them had been with me on my journey to the ancient 
cities and the region of the wild camels. I had no idea, at the time, 
that two of my four men were thieves, and had robbed me. 

Meanwhile, the spy had seen enough. He walked slowly back in 


206 


A DETECTIVE-STORY 207 


the direction of his herd of sheep; but, once out of sight, he caught the 
first horse he saw, and galloped as fast as he could to Khotan. As he 
was missed before long, Togda Bek began to suspect that something 
was wrong, and sent men on horseback to pursue him. But it was too 
late; he was too far ahead. 

Arrived in Khotan, the spy told is story to Said Akhram, who 
reported it to Liu Darin. The latter sent two Chinese officials and 
some soldiers to Tavek-kel. 

Togda Bek now realized that he was in £6 it, and would have to 
act diplomatically. Thinking it was better to sacrifice his illicit posses- 
sions than his, standing and his job, he packed the stolen articles in the 
boxes, and took them to Khotan. On the way, he met Liu Darin’s 
men, and concocted the story that the objects sought for had been found 
and taken to his house only a few days before, and that he was now on 
his way to hand them over to the Chinese authorities. The entire party 
then went to Khotan, where Togda Bek and the other thieves put up 
at a caravansary. But there, too, Said Akhram had spies, who over- 
heard Togda Bek instructing the three hunters what to answer in case 
they were questioned. 

Having thus informed himself sufficiently, Said Akhram held an 
inquiry, and got the three hunters to confess that in the course of the 
winter they had followed up the trail of a fox in the sand, which led 
them into the desert, far west, to a place where there was a dune, white 
with flour. Attracted by the smell of our discarded eatables, the foxes 
had probably gone out to the death-camp repeatedly. 

As the fox-trail did not continue further west, the hunters had drawn 
the correct conclusion that this must be the place where we had aban- 
doned the tent and the boxes. After some digging, they found the 
tent, which had probably been overturned by the wind before it was 
buried by the sandstorms of the summer. Thereafter, it was a simple 
matter to dig out the boxes which we had left in the tent. They knew 
nothing of our two men, who had most likely died outside the tent. 
They loaded the boxes on their donkeys, and themselves carried what 
remained of their water-supply in goatskins. 

In some way or other, Togda Bek, in Tavek-kel, got wind of the 
find, and persuaded the hunters, who were otherwise honest men, to 
take the boxes to his house. They had been hidden there for some time. 
Ahmed Mergen and Kasim Ahun then entered my employ, and took 


208 McY YELP BAS ANG Re Oi Gor 


part in my journey to the ancient cities. Thus they knew a good deal, 
while on this journey; but they were quiet about it. But when they 
returned to Khotan with the wild camel’s skin, Liu Darin, who had 
learned all in the meantime, arrested them, gave them a thrashing, 
and threw them into jail. 

On my return to Khotan, Liu Darin gave back to me all that was 
left. There was nothing of great value to me, for I had meanwhile 
got a new outfit from Europe. And what was I to do with the large 
camera, and its stand, after all the glass plates, both the exposed and 
the non-exposed ones, had had their films removed and been used for 
window-panes in Javek-kel! 

Liu Darin wanted to resort to the rack and grill, in order to squeeze 
the whole truth out of the guilty ones, a measure which I, of course, 
prevented. When, at a final examination, Togda Bek and the hunters 
threw the blame on one another, Liu Darin delivered the Solomon-like 
judgment that each of them should pay back to me the value of the 
missing articles, which, at a low valuation, I estimated at five hundred 
dollars. But I declared that I did not want their silver, and that the 
damage done could not be repaired by money. As a warning te others, 
Liu Darin insisted that they should not come off quite without penalty; 
and so I claimed a sum equivalent to three caravan-horses, or about one 
hundred dollars. Togda Bek doubtless had to stand that loss; for the 
hunters had nothing. And I really felt sorry for them. 

It would not surprise me if some of my readers were to raise the 
question: 

‘What was the good of your exposing your own life, as well as 
those of your men and camels, and your whole outfit, to the tremendous 
risks of those long journeys across sandy deserts devoid of water?” 

To this I should like to reply that though the best existing maps 
of the interior of Asia indicated sandy deserts in the section of eastern 
Turkestan in question, no European had ever traversed them; and thus 
an investigation into the nature of this part of the earth’s crust remained 
an unfinished task for geographical research. Nor was it beyond ques- 
tion that traces of ancient civilization might be discovered in the 
regions which had been completely buried in the drift-sand. We have 
also seen, in a previous chapter, that those hopes of mine were finally 
crowned with success through my discovery of two ancient cities. 

I have also mentioned my hope that these ruined cities would some- 


Aw; DEAE CAL Vases TO RY 209 


time be made the subject of expert archeological excavation and exami- 
nation. In this, too, I was not disappointed, although my hopes were 
not realized until twelve years afterward. It was my friend, Sir Aurel 
Stein, the famous English archeologist, an Hungarian by birth, who, 
supported by the Indian Government, took upon himself this difficult 
but grateful task. And my old cities could hardly have fallen into better 
hands than his. For his achievements there, as well as in other parts 
of Asia, the Retzius Gold Medal of the Swedish Geographical Society 
was later awarded to him, on my recommendation. 

Once, at the beginning of February, 1908, he boldly ventured to 
follow the same route along the Keriya-daria, and through the desert, 
which I have described in two of the foregoing chapters. He was 
guided by my maps. But he made the journey in the opposite direction, 
that is, from north to south. He describes it thus (Ruins of Desert 
Cathay, Il, 379): 

“Ffad I known in Kuchar that guides were not to be secured from 
Shahyar, I might, perhaps, have hesitated before attempting to strike 
right across the desert to the Keriya River; for without such guides 
I could not for a moment hide from myself the serious difficulty of the 
task, and its inherent risks. Hedin, coming from the south, had left 
the end of the Keriya River with the certainty of striking the broad 
goal of the Tarim right across his route at some point or other, if 
only he kept long enough to an approximately northern course. For 
us, coming from the north, the case was essentially different. Our hope 
of reaching water within reasonable time depended solely on our ability 
to steer correctly across some hundred and fifty miles of high dunes 
towards a particular point—the termination of the Keriya River, which 
flowed, not right across our route, but practically in the same direction; 
it involved also the assumption that the river still actually sent its 
water to where Hedin had seen it. 

‘Now I knew well by experience the difficulty of steering a correct 
course by the compass alone in a real sea of sand devoid of all directing 
features. Nor could I overlook the fact that, however justified my 
reliance in Hedin’s careful mapping was, differences in longitude deduced 
from mere route-traverses were bound to be considerable on such ground, 
and in our case all depended on the assumed longitude being right. 
If we failed to strike the river-end in the confused delta of dry beds 
which the river has formed since early periods in its death-struggles 


210 MY ‘LIPE “AS VAN PPX POE R 


with the sands, our position was certain to be dangerous. There would 
be nothing to indicate whether the actual bed, in which we might hope 
to find at least subsoil-water by digging wells, lay to the east or west. 
If we continued our course to the south, there would be great risk of 
our water-supply getting completely exhausted, and of animals—if not 
of men, too—succumbing through thirst long before the line of wells 
and oases at the foot of the Kuen-lun could be reached.” 

Thus his own life, as well as those of his men and his caravan- 
animals, depended on my map. Had this been unreliable, and he been 
led to steer to the right or the left of the point where I had found the 
river-end in the sand-desert, he would have been lost beyond rescue. 
I had, therefore, a great responsibility; and even to this day I am happy 
in the confidence he reposed in my map. One cannot stake more on a 
single card than one’s own and other people’s lives. He had one advan- 
tage over me, in that he knew from my account that the dunes could 
be traversed with camels and donkeys. I was in the dark about that, 
when [ ventured into the desert from the point where the river ended. 
Stein’s journey was accomplished without mishap; and he writes, when 
every danger was past: 

“IT... saw to my delight a broad valley-like belt of dead forest 
and living tamarisks stretching away below to south-southwest. The 
high sands we had just crossed, and this continuous stretch of dead 
jungle, agreed well with the description Hedin had recorded of the 
ground where, on his march from the south, he had finally lost touch 
with the dry river-bed marking the former extension of the river. I felt, 
indeed, almost assured of having hit the very point which his map 
shows as Camp XXIV. It seemed like a triumphant vindication of the 
accuracy of Hedin in mapping, and of our own steering.” 

A few months later, Stein travelled north, down the dry bed of 
the Khotan-daria; and it is of great interest to hear what he says, 
thirteen years after my desert-journey, about the pool that saved my 
life, and from which I carried water in my boots to Kasim. I quote 
from his book (II, 420): 

“On April 20, I started from Mazar-tagh down the dry bed of the 
Khotan River, for Aksu. During the eight rapid marches which carried 
us north to the river’s junction with the Tarim, we suffered a good deal 
from the increasing heat of the desert, and a succession of sand-storms. 
Such conditions made me realize with full intensity the experiences of 


ACE TR ete vere SO RY. 211 


Hedin on his first disastrous crossing of the Takla-makan, in May of 
1896 [really 1895]. Kasim, who had met him afterwards during his 
enforced rest at the shepherd-camp of Boksam, was able to show me 
the pool of fresh water, some twenty miles lower down on the right 
bank, which had proved the great traveller’s saving when he struggled ° 
through from the ‘sea of sand,’ exhausted by thirst. The constancy of 
these pools, found at considerable intervals along that side of the river- 
bed where the current sets, and the delicious freshness of their water, 
furnish proof that there must be a steady flow of subsoil-water, making 
its way down the bed of the river, often over a mile wide, even at the 
driest season.” 

The same geographical problem which had tempted me to undertake 
the disastrous journey in the Takla-makan Desert, also prompted Stein, 
eighteen years later, to take the same route. Like myself, he thought 
that the Masar-tagh was a mountain-range extending all through the 
desert, from the northwest to the southeast. But he chose a more suit- 
able season than I did; for he began his journey on October 29 (1913), 
whereas I had made the start on April 23. He had the winter, with 
its cold, before him. He chose the same starting-point as I did, namely, 
the southern end of the long lake I had discovered. When, after sixteen 
miles, I found that the range did not continue through the desert, I 
changed my course to one straight east, and crossed the entire desert. 
When Stein, after twenty-five miles, found the enterprise a too risky 
one, he abandoned it, and returned to the lake. He was wiser than I— 
vestigia terrent. He says about this (Geographical Journal, August, 
1916): 

“From a lake near it [the hill], which inundations from the Yarkand 
River feed, but which we found brackish at its end, Hedin had started, 
in May, 1896 [really April, 1895], on that bold journey through the 
sandy wastes eastward which ended with the destruction of his caravan 
and his own narrow escape. Steering a southeasterly course, we forced 
our way for three trying marches into the sea of dunes. Closely packed 
and steep from the start, they grew steadily higher, and invariably 
rose in a line running diagonally across our intended direction. By the 
second day, all trace of vegetation, dead or living, was left behind, 
and an endless succession of mighty ridges, with not a patch of level 
sand between them, faced us. The ridges to be climbed soon reached 
two hundred to three hundred feet in height, and progress became pain- 


212 MY yd deo ANS) CACTI eae es 


fully slow with the heavily laden camels. . . . It was by far the most 
forbidding ground I had ever encountered in the Takla-makan. By the 
evening of the third day, the hired camels . . . had either broken down 


completely, or showed serious signs of exhaustion. Next morning, I : 


ascended the highest dune near our camp, and carefully scanning the 
horizon, saw nothing but the same expanse of formidable sand-ridges, 
like huge waves of an angry ocean suddenly arrested in movement. 
There was a strange allurement in this vista, suggesting Nature in the 
contortions of death. But hard as it seemed to resist the siren voices 
of the desert which called me onwards, I felt forced to turn northward. 

. It was as well that I took that hard decision in time; for, by the 
third day after, there sprung up a violent buran (storm)... .” 

He still had eighty-five miles to go, from his turning-point, to the 
little mountain of Masar-tagh, on the western shore of the Khotan- 
daria. It was no doubt fortunate for him and his companions that he 
turned in time. In a similar situation, I should never have made such 
a decision. I should have continued through the desert. It might have 
been the death of me and my men. I might have lost everything, as in 
1895. But the adventure, the conquest of an unknown country, the 
struggle against the AEs eia all have a fascination which draws me 
with irresistible force. 


CH AP PBR xox, told 
My First Entry Into Tibet 


H, sweet summer in Khotan! Oh, delicious rest, after endless 

rides in desert and woods! , 
With tender sadness do I remember the month [ spent in 
the old city. From morning to night, my days were filled 
with work. I completed maps and notes, wrote letters, read, and made 
preparations for a journey to northern Tibet. I lived quite by myself, 
in a spacious wooden pavilion, containing only one large room, with 
windows, opening on all sides, that were closed at night with wooden 
lattices. The building was erected on a brick terrace, and stood in the 
middle of a large garden, surrounded by a high wall. There was only 
one door in the wall; and there was a keeper’s lodge, where Islam Bai 
and my other servants lived, and which housed the kitchen. The dis- 
tance between the pavilion and the kitchen was too great for me to 
shout for the servants. We therefore installed a very simple bell-system 

between the two houses. 

Fifteen new horses stood in the garden, eating grain out of their 
cribs. Liu Darin was magnificent in his generosity. Every day he sent 
me provisions for the horses, as well as for the men. I had asked him 
to recommend to me a young Chinese, whom I could take along to 
Peking, and who could give me lessons in Chinese, during the journey. 
One day, my new travelling-companion appeared. His name was Fong 
Shi. He was a pleasant, willing man, and was extremely happy to be 
able to go to Peking. We began the lessons at once, and I made daily 
notes in Fong Shi’s strange mother-tongue. 

It was hot; but in our garden we did not mind 100.4°. There was 
enough shade for us, and the water rippled in rivulets among the trees. 
At times, violent storms passed over the district. Then the wind whistled 
and sang in the tree-tops, and one could hear the branches creak and 
rub against one another, or snap off. 

One dark night, a storm swept Khotan. I lay awake, listening 
comfortably to the roaring wind outside. Yoldash, who had grown, 

213 


214 MY LIFE AS AN EXPLORER 


and had developed into a good watch-dog, rushed up suddenly, and 
began to bark wildly at one of the farther windows. The wooden 
gratings were down. The dog quivered, and foamed with rage. I crept 
to the wire attached to the bell. It was cut. I slipped out onto the 
terrace, and saw a couple of dark shadows, hard pressed by the dog, 
disappear among the bushes. I woke Islam up. We fired a few shots 
at random. ‘The next morning, we found, inside the wall, a ladder, 
which the thieves had left behind them in their hurried flight. After 
that, we always kept a night-watchman in the garden. Once every 
minute, the watchman was to sound three strokes on his drum. From 
that time on, no more thieves disturbed our rest. 

When everything was ready for our departure, I took leave of fine 
old Liu Darin, and presented him with a gold watch and chain as a 
memento. A rousing farewell-feast was held around a big fire in the 
garden, where all who had assisted us, and also my own men, were 
treated to mutton, rice-pudding, and 
tea, while they regaled their eyes with 
the dancing, and their ears with string- 
music. On the following morning, our 
caravan-beasts were laden, and we went 
off to Keriya and Niya, where we 
bought six fresh camels, and then to 
Kopa, a small, insignificant village of a 
few stone huts, at the foot of the moun- 
tains, where gold was to be found. 

On July 30, we entered in among the 
mountains, which are the outworks of 
the highest and most gigantic natural 
fort on earth, the high plateau of Tibet. 
A valley led us up to the Dalai-kurgan 
district, where we were already at a 

H t height of 11,000 feet. This part of the 
A “TAGHLIK” OR MOUNTAIN INHABITANT A 4 z 4 

eel have vt iciets ahd country was still inhabited by Taghliks, 

or mountaineers of East Turkestan ex- 

traction. Here there were but eighteen families, with their tents and 

their six thousand sheep. But after leaving Dalai-kurgan, we came to 

unpopulated country, and were to travel east for two months without 
meeting a human being. 


Mae iL RS Ret bNg ver a NTO) I Boe, TE 215 


What was worse, we left the last good pasture-land at one day’s 
remove from Dalai-kurgan. ‘Then the grass grew worse and worse, 
and finally ended entirely. We departed from Dalai-kurgan with 
twenty-one horses, twenty-nine donkeys, and six camels. Of these, only 
three horses, threé camels, and one donkey got through northern Tibet 
with their lives” We also had twelve sheep, two goats, and three dogs— 
my faithful Yoldash, or the “Travelling-Companion,” Yolbars, or the 
‘Tiger,’ and Buru, the ‘‘Wolf.’”? A sheep-dog, limping on three legs, as 
a result of a fight with wolves, joined our caravan of its own accord. 

I had only eight steady retainers: Islam Bai, Fong Shi, Parpi Bai, 
Islam Ahun, Hamdan Bai, Ahmed Ahun, Roslak, and Kurban Ahun. 
We took with us also seventeen Taghliks from Dalai-kurgan, and their 
aksakal, or chief, who was to accompany us for two weeks, and help us 
over the most difficult passes. 

Parpi Bai was a man of fifty, with nice features, full black beard, 
and lively dark-brown eyes, dressed in a sheepskin coat and a fur-edged 
cap. He had beer a servant of Dalgleish, when the latter was assassi- 
nated at the Kara-korum Pass, and of Dutreuil de Rhins, who was 
murdered in eastern Tibet, and of Prince Henry of Orleans, who died 
in the French East Indies. At the camp-fires, there seemed to be no 
end to the tales of his own wonderful adventures, experienced on his 
long journeys in Asia. 

We noticed, from the very beginning, that the Taghliks were un- 
trustworthy. One night, two of them ran away, and later on two more. 
They had got their wages in advance. Their aksakal had to answer for 
the liberties taken by his men. Among the labyrinth of valleys and 
mountains which we had to cross, to reach the Tibetan plateau, the men 
were sorely needed. 

The caravan proceeded in five divisions. The camels, with their 
leaders, went first; then the horses; then the donkeys, in two groups; 
and, last, the sheep and the goats, with their shepherds. Accompanied 
by Fong Shi and a Taghlik acquainted with the district, I always brought 
up the rear; for I was busy drawing a map of our route, and making 
sketches of the glorious mountains that rose on all sides, and also 
collecting plants and rock-specimens. Islam Bai picked out the 
camping-places, which were always chosen with due regard to water, 
grazing, and fuel. By the time I reached camp the tents would already 


216 MY) LIFE CAS (AN VEX REO RE RR 


be pitched, the animals would be grazing on what sparse grass there 
might be, the fires would be burning, and Yoldash, who generally 
deserted me upon seeing the camp in the distance, would be standing 
in the opening of my tent, wagging his tail, and bidding me welcome 
as though he were the master of the house. 

The valley turned southeast, and narrowed. It took us to the first 
high pass over which the Taghliks were to guide us. The caravan 
traversed it without loss. Its height was 15,680 feet; and from its 
fairly sharp ridge, we had a magnificent view over a world of snow- 
covered mountains. South of it, the terrain opened out again. Here 
we startled the first wild ass, who disappeared among the mountains, 
pursued by the dogs. The three-legged dog found he could not keep 
up with the caravan. He stood alone and abandoned on a PrOjsetiae 
rock, and howled as the caravan went on its way. 

Bulak-bashi (the Head of the Spring) was the last place for which 
the Taghliks had a name. Going east from there, we were to wander 
long through nameless regions, where no European had ever set foot. 
The mountains to the south, between the snow-covered ridges and sum- 
mits of which glacier-tongues led down, were known to the Taghliks 
merely as Arka-tagh, or “‘the Farther Mountains.” 

Winter comes early in these high regions. One morning we were 
awakened by a snow-storm. My tent was upset by the wind, and had 
to be guyed with ropes and boxes. The temperature fell to 20°, in 
spite of the fact that we were well along in August. The whole country 
was white, and it was not always easy to find the trail of the caravan. 
Mountain-sickness also claimed its victims. Most of the men complained 
of headache and palpitations. But nobody was in so sad a plight as 
Fong Shi, whose condition grew worse, day by day. He had a high 
fever, and could hardly keep in the saddle. To take him farther along 
would have been to risk his life; so I had to send him back to East 
Turkestan. I let him keep his horse, gave him money and food, and 
a ‘Taghlik as escort. He was deeply grieved at his ruined hopes of 
getting to Peking. He really presented a disconsolate sight on the 
morning when we parted at the embers of one of our camp-fires. 

My faithful servant, Islam Bai, was ill too. He coughed blood, and 
asked to be left behind, with two Taghliks. But after a few days’ 
rest, in a valley where we found tolerable grazing, he improved. The 


Die DR Sy CE NR etl Ot ate BT: 2us 


animals had not had any green fodder for four days. But they always 
got maize. The donkeys carried the maize for the horses and camels. 
They themselves were less particular, and even put up with the droppings 
of wild asses and yaks. We had maize to last us for a month, and 
provisions for the men for two months and a half. Every evening, at 
sunset, the camels would return from grazing, and come waddling up 
to the camp, where their maize-rations were poured out on a piece of 
tent-cloth. 

It was with a group of invalids that I made my entrance into northern 


“a 


THE CARAVAN ATTACKED BY A STORM OF HAIL AND RAIN 


Tibet. We were at an altitude of 16,300 feet, and the temperature 
at night sank to 13°. A western storm, with hail and snow, swept the 
tableland every day. No matter how clear the sky, the west would 
darken, and lead-coloured clouds filled the spaces between the snowy 
peaks. A roaring sound became audible, and approached at a terrific 
speed. It grew as dark, at midday, as after nightfall. The thunder 
rumbled and a dull echo reverberated among the mountain-walls. And 


218 MY): DTRE EAS VAN (HE XORIOO rR Bi 


then came the hail-shower, like a veritable artillery-fire from an enemy’s 
battery. The beatings of the innumerable little ice-balls, as they whipped 
our poor bodies, could be felt right through the thickest sheepskin coat. 
It was impossible to see anything. We sheltered our heads underneath 
our coverings. Night surrounded us, and the caravan stopped. The 
poor horses got frightened, and winced at their undeserved hail-whip- 
ping. But these storms, as regular as they were violent, passed quickly. 
They were generally followed by a snowfall; but about an hour later, 
the sky would clear, and the sun would sink behind the mountains in 
all its glory. 

We were now to cross the Arka-tagh, and our guides accordingly 
led us up through a steep valley. I followed the horses, which that 
day were in the lead. After many difficult hours, we reached the pass, 
at a height of 17,200 feet. At the moment of surmounting the saddle 
of the pass, the usual hail-storm arrived. We could not go on; for 
we were unable to see our way. So we decided to camp, temporarily. 
The tents were pitched and guyed, and the animals tethered. Water, 
grazing, and fuel were lacking; but the hailstones that collected in the 
crevices gave us water; and a wooden box was broken up for firewood. 
It was a horrible camping-place. The thunder pealed all around us. 
‘The ground trembled under the shock. The camels and donkeys had 
disappeared. In the evening, the sky cleared, and the moon rose, 
shining like silver. 

The next day, we discovered that our Taghliks had led us astray, 
and that the pass on which we were camping led over a smaller ridge, 
not over the Arka-tagh itself. We had to descend again, to look for 
the right pass, and to find the divisions of the caravan that had gone 
astray. 

We accomplished the latter task; but, as everyone was exhausted, 
we no sooner found some tolerable pasturage on a brookside, than we 
encamped. 

It was now arranged that three Taghliks should return home, but 
that the others should go with us till we got in touch with other human 
beings. ‘The latter asked for half their wages in advance, in order to 
send the money home to their families by their three returning comrades. 

Silence fell on the camp at an early hour that evening. Our Taghliks 
used to arrange the maize-bags and the provision-boxes in a small, 


Die eR Se EI NGE Rove Nev Or CE ELBE TD 219 


circular barricade, in the centre of which they built their fire, and after- 
wards found shelter from the constant wind. 

On the morning of August 19, the alarm was sounded. Every one 
of the Taghliks had disappeared, probably as early as midnight! Tired 
out as we were, we had all slept soundly, and nobody had noticed any- 
thing. The Taghliks stole two horses, ten donkeys, and a supply of 
bread, flour, and maize. And to bewilder us, they left the camp in 
groups, proceeding in different directions, as was evident from their 
tracks. Afterwards, by prearrangement, they met at a rendezvous, and 
continued west together. 

Parpi Bai was entrusted with the task of pursuing the fugitives with 
two men and our three best horses. A day and a half later, he returned 
with the sorry-looking gang, and made the following report: 

After the Taghliks had covered a distance equal to that which we 
would traverse in three days, they felt themselves safe; so they stopped 
and made a fire. Five of them were sitting around it, and the others 
were already asleep. When Parpi Bai rode up, they leapt to their feet 
and fled in different directions. He fired a shot in the air and shouted: 
‘‘Come back, or I'll shoot you down!’’ Thereupon they returned, flung 
themselves on the ground, and cried for mercy. Parpi Bai took their 
money, and bound their hands behind their backs. Early the next morn- 
ing, they started for our camp; and at ten o’oclock at night they arrived, 
half dead, poor fellows, from exhaustion. 

It was indeed a picturesque court-scene which was presented before 
my tent in the mixed light from the camp-fire and the moon. They 
were sentenced to be kept tethered, and under watch, at night, and to 
compensate Parpi Bai and the two other men for their trouble; upon 
which they went to sleep behind their barricade of bags and boxes, and, 
being completely exhausted, they slept heavily, while the moon shone 
brightly on a ground covered with a thin layer of snow. 

A few days later, having made a thorough reconnaissance, we crossed 
the principal crest of the Arka-tagh, by a pass 18,200 feet high; and on 
the other side we descended into a vast valley, stretching as far east 
as the eye could see. We followed this valley for almost a month. 
On our left, rose the Arka-tagh, with mighty summits, perpetual snow- 
fields, and blue glaciers; and on the right, or south of our route, the 
mountain-range, the extreme eastern end of which is called Koko-shili 


(the Green Hills) by the Mongolians, 


220 MY LPRE OAS “AN VE XP EO RK 


No human beings ever find their way to these regions. Neither 
nomads nor their herds can live there. The altitude is too great. Even 
in the lowest part of the mountains we were at a higher level than the 
top of Mont Blanc, and most of the time we were at an altitude of 
16,200 feet. 

Already at our first camp, the mountain-spirits greeted us with a 
thunderous sound. Fantastic, wild, purple-black clouds rose at sunset, 
filled the valley, and floated eastward like a lava-stream. It grew dark 
all around us. The gale threatened to carry off the whole camp; and 
we all had to hold onto the tent to keep it in place. The hail lashed the 
whole region like a scourge. But within five minutes the heavy squall 
was past, and the cloud-formations moved.on to the east like great fleets 
of warships. Impervious fog followed in their wake, to be succeeded, 
in turn, by night, with its unsolvable mysteries. ° 


CHAPDER X XTX 
Wild Asses, Wild Yaks, and Mongolians 


E were now on the crest of the huge Tibetan plateau, the 
largest and highest mountain-accumulation on earth. Our 
period of hardships began when the rarefied air and 
absence of pasture-land broke the caravan’s power of resist- 

ance, and when, almost daily, our track was marked by the beasts of 
burden which we left lying on the road. 

Now, too, we were in the Eldorado of the wild animals. In a 
country where we looked in vain for grass, wild asses and antelopes 
found their way to the scarce pastures, and wild yaks got their subsistence 
from the lichens and mosses growing among the gravel and on the cliffs, 
all the way up to the edge of the glaciers. We saw them daily, singly 
and in herds; and the desolate and sterile landscape was enlivened by 
these masters of the highland. 

Some of the four-legged members of the expedition, i.e., the dogs, 
were at least as interested as the men in the wild animals. Once an 
inquisitive wild ass kept running ahead of the caravan for two hours. 
Time after time, it stopped, sniffed, snorted, and ran ahead again. 
When Yolbars, the “Tiger,” chased him, he turned round to attack the 
dog. We all laughed to see the dog run away, with his tail between 
his legs. 

Another time, my favourite tent-companion, Yoldash, shot like an 
arrow after a wild ass, who fled and disappeared over the nearest hills, 
tempting the dog to follow. But the brave pursuer did not return. We 
camped, and the evening passed, and also most of the night. But at 
three o'clock in the morning, I was awakened by Yoldash wriggling in 
underneath the tent-cloth. Whining with joy, he came up to me and 
licked my face. He had evidently lost our trail, had wandered in search 
of us for fourteen hours, and had probably found our camp by mere 
chance. 

One day, Islam Bai sent a bullet after a lone wild ass, and shattered 


one of its legs. The animal went only a short distance, and then fell, 
22% 


gar MY: LIFE (AS “AN VE AE DORR 


landing picturesquely in my sketch-book. He measured seven and a half 
feet, from his upper lip to the root of his tail. His colour was a 
beautiful dark reddish-brown, his belly and legs white, the nose grey. 
The hoofs were as large as those of a horse, the ears fairly long, the 
nostrils large and broad, the tail like that of a mule, the lungs well 
developed. We kept the skin, and the flesh was a welcome addition 
to our food-supply. 

The beautiful, elegant antelopes were not molested by Islam Bai; 
but a few yaks fell before his bullets. One was a cow, measuring eight 
feet in length, whose tongue, kidneys, and marrow provided a welcome 


i are 


a thea. . f . 
Sones: Anger ene ee apap tn OUI MSD OIL SENS a 


ry 
el 


A WILD YAK CHARGING OUR DOGS 


variety to my meals. The men appropriated the flesh to themselves. 
Another, a bull, was not brought down so easily. Islam came trium- 
phantly to camp and told us he had shot a stately bull yak at some 
distance from our tents. Seven bullets were required to make the beast 
take final leave of his familiar grazing-grounds. As he lay near the 
road over which we were to go the next day, it was decided that Islam 
should show me the spot, so that I might draw a picture of the animal. 

So Islam took the lead next morning. Imagine my surprise, on 
finding the place empty, and the “killed” bull yak gone. At first, I 


WELD) YAKS; AND MON GOLTANS 223 


wondered if the whole thing was the usual hunter’s yarn. Butno! The 
trail showed quite clearly that the yak, after recovering from the string 
of shots, had got up and wandered to a spring. There he was walking, 
on the edge of the pool, and grubbing in the ground. When he sighted 
us, he raised his head, and presented a magnificent picture of compact 
strength and glowing rage. When the eighth bullet, with a dull sound, 
lodged in his body, he lowered his horns and rushed at us. We wheeled 
our horses, and fled at top speed. But the yak pursued us, and gained 
upon us. The distance between us grew shorter. He was quite near, 
when all of a sudden he stopped short, tossed up the sand with his horns, 
lashed the air with his tail, and rolled his red, bloodshot eyes wildly. 
Then we stopped, too, and the hunter sent another bullet into him, 
which made him whirl round several times, while earth and sand flew 
all about him. Yoldash, who was with us, aroused the bull’s anger; 
but he saved himself in time. The eleventh ball penetrated the region 
of the heart, and the wild old yak fell heavily on the ground where he 
had spent his life in undisturbed freedom. 

This bull was about twenty years old, and a fine specimen, being 
ten and a half feet long. ‘The outside measurement of the horn was 
two and a half feet; and the thick, black, woolly fringes on the sides, 
which form soft, warm cushions for him to lie on, were a little over 
two feet long. 

From this it appears that the yak is not easily brought down. He 
does not collapse, unless shot behind the shoulder. He merely grunts, 
and shakes his head at a ball sent into his massive, low forehead. But 
if he is struck in a more vital spot, he becomes dangerous, and will charge 
the hunter. He is built for the high, rarefied air, and does not get 
short of breath. The chances are, therefore, that he will overtake the 
hunter and his horse, who are both accustomed to breathing denser air. 

On our way east, we discovered a whole line of lakes, most of them 
more or less salt. Instead of giving them European names, I designated 
them by Roman numerals. Lake Number XIV was at an altitude of 
16,750 feet. A week later we went along the shore of a large lake 
for seventeen miles. 

The country continued to be monotonous. But every day new views 
over snowy peaks and glaciers opened out on both sides. No trace of 
any human being was ever to be seen. But yes! Once, when we crossed 
the route of Bonvalot and the Prince of Orleans, we found a felt rag, 


224 MY LIBRE CAS AN EXPE ORER 


which had probably belonged to one of their beasts of burden. The 
dry droppings of the wild yak were collected in bags during our march. 
They burned with a bluish-red flame and gave intense heat. The worst 
thing was that pasturage became more and more scarce. One horse or 
donkey after another collapsed; and we considered ourselves lucky on 
those days when we had no losses to record. ‘The camels were the 
hardiest. But their pads became sore from rubbing against the sand; 
and so we made socks for them. When hunting was poor, the dogs 
had to content themselves with the flesh of dead caravan-animals. ‘The 
tension grew day by day; and in the end we doubted whether we would 
stumble on any nomad-tents before the last caravan-beasts succumbed. 
In that event we would have to discard our luggage, and make our way 
on foot, until we found men. 

As a matter of fact, our hunting had been unsuccessful for some 
time; and we had already killed our last sheep. When the first camel 
collapsed, the men cut out the best of its flesh for food. One morning, 
my faithful riding-horse, which had carried me for sixteen months, was 
found dead between the tents. 

On September 21, we camped on the western shore of a lake, which 
barred our way diagonally. We could not make out its southeastern 
extremity, and we might have imagined ourselves standing on the shore 
of a bay. We followed the lake to the northeast, and lost two days 
by this roundabout journey. One day, we were caught here by a storm, 
surpassing’ in magnitude and violence all previous ones. ‘The sky dark- 
ened rapidly. The blue lake turned dark-grey, and its surface rose in 
white, foaming, roaring waves. The mountains disappeared behind 
impenetrable clouds. ‘The hail-storm lashed the rocks, while the waves 
interrupted our progress, and forced us to encamp hastily at the en- 
trance to a valley. 

We now had five camels, nine horses, and three donkeys left. The 
animals got grain for the last time. ‘There was still sufficient flour 
for a month, therefore the last horses got a small roll of bread each day. 

On September 27, we left the wide valley with the many lakes, and 
went northeast over a pass. On the farther side, we surprised a herd 
of yak, numbering about a hundred. Islam sent a bullet into the group. 
The frightened animals separated into two groups, one of which, about 
forty-seven animals, headed straight toward me and the Taghlik who 
accompanied me. A huge bull ran in front. When about a hundred 


WILD YAKS AND MONGOLIANS Pos 


paces away, they saw us, and swerved aside. Islam fired a second shot. 
The bull charged; and he was on the point of tossing horse and rider 
in the air, when, at the last moment, Islam turned in his saddle and 
gave the beast a fatal shot in its breast. We encamped near the fallen 
animal. Its carcase yielded food for several days. 

We could not be very far now from human beings! On the summit 
of the next pass, there was a stone cairn, evidently erected by Mon- 
golian yak-hunters. We still saw herds numbering two hundred wild 
asses. Another couple of our horses died. How long would the caravan 
survive? Our food-supply was nearly exhausted; and tents, beds, boxes, 
and specimens weighed as much as before, and possibly more. 

On the last day of September, we reached an opening of the valley, 


a 


Hi 


AN “OBO” OF 49 STONE SLABS WITH THE SACRED INSCRIPTION TO THE 
SPIRITS OF THE MOUNTAINS 


and came upon a very beautiful obo, or religious monument, dedicated 
to the mountain-deities. It consisted of forty-nine slabs of dark-green 
slate, some of them four and a half feet long, placed edgewise one 
against the other, like a stable with three cribs. They were covered 
with Tibetan ideographs. I had never before seen an obo. Very likely 
one of the pilgrim-roads of the Tsaidam Mongols, leading to Lhasa, 
crossed here. Did the writing on these slate slabs perhaps contain some 
important historic information? But I did not have to study the inscrip- 


226 MY LIFE AS SANE ADORE R 


tions long, before discovering that the same signs recurred invariably, 
and in the same order, on all the slabs. It was of course the usual 
formula of prayer, ‘‘Om mani padme hum!” (Oh, the jewel is in the 
lotus!). 

The next day, going down a valley, between granite mountains, we 
found another obo, as well as some fireplaces and abandoned tent- 
grounds. A herd of yak grazed on a slope. Islam took a shot at the 
animals at long range; but they never budged. Instead of that, an old 
woman came running forward, shouting at the top of her voice. We 
learned from her that the yaks were tame. ‘This we could see for our- 
selves, when we got closer; for the tame yak is smaller than the wild 
one. A brooklet rippled down the valley; and on its shore we pitched 
our tents, quite close to the one belonging to the old “lady of the 
mountains.” 

It was quite interesting to meet a human being again, after fifty- 
five days of solitude. But none of us understood Mongolian, the 
language of that human creature. Parpi Bai knew only the single word, 
bane (there is), and I knew five, u/a (mountain), nor (lake), gol and 
muren (river), and gobi (desert). But it was difficult to make the old 
woman understand by means of this vocabulary that our first and fore- 
most wish was to buy a fat, juicy sheep. I tried to bleat like one, and 
showed her two Chinese silver coins; whereupon the fate of one of her 
sheep was sealed. The meat soon found its way into our frying-pan. 

The old woman was dressed in a sheep’s skin, a belt, and boots, 
and had a kerchief wrapped round her forehead. She wore her hair 
in two plaits. Her eight-year-old son was similarly dressed, but had 
three braids. Their black felt carpet-tent was supported by two upright 
poles, and was kept taut with ropes. Its interior revealed a picturesque 
disorder of saucepans, wooden bowls, ladles, hunting-utensils, furs, skins, 
sheep-bladders filled with yak-fat, and big pieces of meat cut from the 
carcase of a wild yak. ‘wo small Buddha-images and some sacred 
vessels were standing on a wooden box toward the back. This, accord- 
ing to my Mohammedan men, was the house-altar, or the family’s 
budkhaneh (shrine of Buddha). 

The head of the family came home in the evening. His name was 
Dorche, and he was a professional yak-hunter. He was not a little 
amazed at having acquired neighbours right in the wilderness, who came 
from God only knows where. He stood as if paralyzed, staring at us, 


WILD YAKS AND MONGOLIANS 227 


uncertain whether we were real, or whether he was labouring under an 
hallucination. 

The old woman and the boy probably told him that we were not 
bandits, but fairly decent men, who paid honestly for what they got, 
besides presenting them with tobacco and sugar. 

Thereupon Dorche gradually melted; and he was quite amiable, 
when later we took him to my tent. He became our friend and our 
confidant, and afterwards served as our guide for several days, and 
took us to his tribesmen, the Tajinoor Mongols of Tsaidam. Already 
on the first day, he sold us three small horses and two sheep. 

In the beginning, we had great difficulty understanding each other. 
When we did not grasp what Dorche said, he shouted as though we were 
stone-deaf. I began immediately taking lessons in Mongolian from him. 
I first wrote down the numerals. ‘Then I pointed to the forehead, the 
eyes, the nose, the mouth, the ears, hands and feet, tent, saddle, horse, 
etc., to get the names of these objects. It was more difficult to learn 
the verbs. We first disposed of the simpler ones, such as to eat, drink, 
lie, walk, sit, ride, smoke, etc.; but when I wanted to know the Mon- 
golian word for “‘beat,’’ and accordingly thumped Dorche on the back, 
he started up quite scared, thinking that I was angry. ‘The lessons 
continued on the days following; and after a few days’ rest, during a 
ride down the valley of the Naiji-muren, I kept Dorche constantly by my 
side, asking him the names of valleys and mountains. I wanted to learn 
Mongolian; and, besides, necessity forced me to it. It is sometimes an 
advantage not to have an interpreter; for then one must perforce 
acquaint oneself with the language. After a few weeks, I spoke the 
simple vernacular of the nomads without difficulty. 

On October 6, I left before the caravan was ready, Dorche and 
Yoldash, the dog, being my sole companions. We rode, mile after 
mile, down the widening valley; and finally the level horizon of the 
lowlands of Tsaidam appeared in the north. The whole day passed. 
We were crossing a belt of desert land, when twilight set in; and then 
we entered a path, which wound its way across a tamarisk-steppe. 

Dorche stopped, and pointing in the direction from which we had 
come, he declared that our caravan would never find its way to my camp 
without a guide. He would therefore have to go back and lead it. But 
first he indicated with his hand in which direction I was to proceed; 
and when [I intimated that I understood what he meant, he laughed, 


228 MY OD TRE AS SAN Exe Pia Rone 


nodded, and jumped up and down in the saddle, out of sheer delight. 
Then he disappeared in the darkness, and I rode on. 

The night became pitch-dark. ‘The newly-purchased horse evidently 
knew his way, for he just walked on and on. The way seemed endless. 
Eventually, the light of some fires appeared in the distance. Slowly 
the light increased. Dogs could be heard barking to the north; and, 
after a while, a lot of furious dogs attacked us. They would probably 
have torn Yoldash to pieces, if I had not jumped off of my horse and 
got the poor creature up on the saddle. ‘Thus, after a ride of nearly 
thirty miles, we made our entrance—the horse, Yoldash, and I—into 


5 Sth. Shes a 
"CG AO” BOXES, WHICH THE MONGOLS HANG ROUND THEIR NECKS 


the tent-village of Yike-tsohan-gol. I tied my horse, and stepped into 
a tent, where half a dozen Mongols sat round the fire, drinking tea, 
and kneading tsamba, or roasted maize-flour, in their wooden bowls. 

I greeted them with ‘“‘Amur san bane?” (How is your health?). 

They stared at me, speechless. I drank a good mouthful out of a 
pan of mare’s milk, and lit my pipe with imperturbable coolness. The 
Mongols were exceedingly amazed. ‘They apparently did not know 
what to make of me. I tried to impress them by uttering some of the 
words Dorche had taught me. But they only stared; and I could not 
get a sound out of them. © 

Thus we sat, staring at one another, and at the fire, for fully two 


WIDED YAKS “AND  MONGOLTANS 229 


hours, when the tramping of horses and voices announced that the 
caravan had at last arrived. Two horses and one donkey, veterans 
from East Turkestan, had died; and only three camels, three horses, 
and one donkey remained of the original fifty-six animals. 

After Dorche explained things to the Yike-tsohan-gol Mongols, we 
soon became friends. We stayed with them five days, organizing a new 
caravan. 

The Mongols who dwelt near by, hearing that we wanted to buy 
horses, came and offered their animals for sale. We bought twenty 
of them. Parpi Bai, being a saddle-maker, made pack-saddles for them. 
Sonum, the chief of the district, came to visit me, wearing a red mantle, 
and bringing us milk, sour milk, and kumiss (fermented mare’s milk), 
in wooden vessels. I returned his visit in his tent, outside the entrance 
of which a spear was stuck in the ground. The interior was adorned 
with a fine domestic altar. Agriculture was not carried on at all in this 
district; but the people kept herds—sheep, camels, horses, and horned 
cattle—and some of them were very well off. 

They wore small cases of brass, copper, or silver round their necks. 
These contained images of Buddha, in clay or wood, and slips of paper 
bearing the sacred prayer. The cases were called gao. I bought a whole 
collection of them. ‘They were beautifully decorated. ‘The silver ones, 
in particular, were embellished with turquoises and coral. But the 
Mongols did not dare to reveal to one another that they were selling 
the holy relics to an infidel; and so they would steal to my tent at night, 
where, under cover of darkness, they delivered the images of the 
unfathomable Buddha into my hands. 


Cert A PMB x in 
In the Land of the Tangut Robbers 


HEN we left our new friends, on October 12, and pro- 
ceeded eastward across steppes, deserts, and knotty, salty 
ground, we had an entirely new and splendid caravan of 
well-conditioned horses. On the left rolled the boundless, 

level plains of Tsaidam; and on the right were the Tibetan mountains. 
We spent the nights in Mongol tent-villages, eating the same food as the 
Mongols. After a few days, Dorche was paid off. He was superseded 
by Lobsang, a fine, big Mongol. We were still a month’s journey from 
Si-ning, and twelve hundred and fifty miles from Peking. Winter, with 
its cold, was approaching; but we had reached lower regions, and were 
usually at an altitude of from 9,000 to 10,000 feet. 

Then we swerved toward the north, and reached the Tossun-nor, a 
salt-lake of a beautiful dark-blue colour. That region was almost unin- 
habited. But on the shores of the river of Holuin-gol, we saw fires 
at night. There was a wonderful, mysterious air about that country! 
Here and there a picturesque obo rose, with ghostly, fluttering prayer- 
pennants. Where fresh-water sources existed near the shores of the 
Tossun-nor, white swans could be seen swimming about on the blue 
water. The temperature had fallen to —14.8°, the air was still, and the 
full moon silvered the desolate country, its beams tracing a vibrant 
path on the lake. 

As we rode along the southern shore of Kurlyk-nor, a fresh-water 
lake, Lobsang sat silent and serious in his saddle, incessantly mumbling 
the sacred formula, “Om mani padme hum.” I inquired after the 
cause of his gloom, and he answered that he had learned from the last 
Mongols we met that Tangut robbers had been to Kurlyk a few days 
before, and had stolen horses from the nomads. He advised us, in 
consequence, to have all our firearms in readiness. Our three rifles and 
five revolvers were accordingly distributed among the men. ‘At night, 


our horses were tethered close to the camp. Night-sentries were sta- 
230 


THE TANGUT ROBBERS Za) 


tioned about the tents, and the three dogs were depended upon to warn 
us of danger. 

On the last day of October, we camped on the shores of Khara-nor, 
where bear-tracks were numerous, and where we had to keep more 
careful watch than ever on the horses. Though the bear contents him- 
self with wild berries, in the late autumn he will attack any grazing 
horse that he encounters. 

The next day, we rode east, through a broad valley, surrounded by 
low mountains. ‘The track of a bear that had loped along, in the 
direction we were taking, was visible on the path in the centre of the 
valley. Islam Bai and Lobsang rode out in pursuit. At the end of 
an hour, they came galloping back at full speed, looking as if they had 
seen the Devil himself. On coming up to us, they shouted, with what 
breath remained: ‘“Tangut robbers!” 

Close behind them, and stirring up a cloud of dust, appeared a band 
of about a dozen mounted Tanguts, all with rifles on their shoulders 
or in their hands. They raced straight towards us. We halted, and 
arranged our position of defense in a trice. We happened to be on a 
mound, six or seven feet high, on the top of which Islam, Parpi, Lob- 
sang, and I stationed ourselves, with rifles and revolvers ready for 
action. [he other men, with the caravan, took position behind us, 
where they were protected by the mound. The men thought their last 
moment had come, and their knees trembled. We had thrown off our 
furs, so as to be freer to receive the shock. The outcome was doubtful. 
We were only three rifles against twelve. I lit my pipe, in the hope of 
imbuing my men with a calmness that I hardly felt myself. 

When the robbers saw that they had to deal with a whole caravan, 
they stopped short, at a hundred and fifty paces, and held a council of 
war. ‘They crowded together, talking and gesticulating, their rifles 
gleaming in the sunshine. After a moment, they turned back. We 
mounted our horses again, and resumed our journey. ‘The Tanguts 
kept on our right, at a distance of two rifle-shots. They separated into 
two platoons, one riding up a side-valley, the other skirting the foot of 
the mountain on the right side of the valley. They kept together, and 
seemed to have their minds set on anticipating our arrival at the narrow 
passage into which the main valley tapered. We perceived the danger 
ahead of us, and hurried on as fast as our horses could go. Lobsang 
was nearly scared to death. 


232 MY SGLRES AS 7 AN Seer GORE R 


“They will shoot us down from the top of the rocks,” he said. ‘We 
had better turn and take another way.” 

But I urged my men on, for all they were worth. The Tanguts 
showed themselves again at the rocks near the narrow entrance. Our 
situation was most exciting. The Tanguts might hide among the rocks 
far above us, and pick us off, one by one, without exposing themselves. 
They had chosen a veritable Thermopyle, which we, with our three 
rifles, had small chance of forcing. 

Puffing vigorously at my pipe, I rode into the narrow, pee passage. 
“Here goes,” thought I. “I will be struck down by a bullet, while my 
brave Mohammedans will flee for dear life.” 

But nothing happened. We passed safe and sound through the 
defile, and were relieved to see the valley on the other side open out 
into a large plain. The Tanguts had disappeared, leaving no trace. 
We continued our march, until we found a frozen fresh-water pool, 
surrounded by grass, in the middle of the plain. There I ordered a halt, 
and we pitched camp for the night. 

The horses were instantly turned loose in the grass, and were kept 
out, under watch, until it grew dark. Then they were tethered between 
the tents. Islam and Parpi took the night-watch. No extra measures 
were needed to keep the men awake; for everyone expected the Tanguts 
to return in greater numbers. Przhevalsky was once attacked by three 
hundred Tanguts; and if their kinsmen east of Khara-nor had been 
a little bolder, they would have made a great haul. 

No sooner was it pitch-dark than we heard the wildest howling— 
long-drawn, plaintive whines, like the hungry wails of hyenas, jackals, 
and wolves at night. It came from all around our camp, and quite 
close by. Lobsang assured us it was the Tangut war-cry, designed to 
frighten us, and to find out how attentive and brave our watch-dogs 
were. The bandits crawled through the grass, on their elbows and 
knees, and they could get quite close without being seen in the darkness. 
Every moment we expected to hear the first shots of an attack, which 
we could only have returned blindly. We did our best to drown the 
noise they were making. ‘[wice a minute, Parpi Bai would call out 
‘Khabardar!”? (Are the sentries awake?). And, in the absence of 
drums, two of the men banged a couple of Taras saucepans as hard as 
they could. 

Hour after hour passed, and no shots were exchanged. The Tan- 


DEVE TAN GUT Rk OB BER S 233 


guts evidently still felt unsure, and therefore postponed their attack. I 
grew drowsy, and lay down, hearing the indefatigable Parpi Bai’s 
‘“Khabardar”’ till I fell asleep. 

Thus the night passed without further adventure; and when the sun 
rose, the Tanguts had mounted their horses and were out of range. We 
loaded our animals, and started east. No sooner had we left our camp- 
ing-place, than the Tanguts rode up to it and dismounted. We saw 
them scratch and search where the tents had stood and the fire had 
burned. Empty match-boxes, ends of candles, and pieces of newspaper 
doubtless informed them that the caravan was under European direc- 
tion. At any rate, they did not pursue us, and we saw nothing more 
of them. 

Now that we felt ourselves again secure, I let my men, after so hard 
a night’s work, sleep the whole day. Never before, or after, did I hear 
people snore as they did. 


TANGUT BANDITS CREEPING AROUND OUR CAMP AT NIGHT 


Thereafter, we often passed Tangut nomad-tents, and bought sheep 
and milk. ‘The Tanguts are a Tibetan tribe, but they are considered 
to be more savage and ferocious than the Tibetans. They rob weak 
caravans and steal horses whenever they can. Once I took Lobsang and 
entered a tent unarmed. A couple of women sat there, nursing their 
babies. I made a note of all their house-furnishings, and asked them 
the names of the various objects. The women laughed, believing I was 


234 MY ‘DIRE? AS AN “EXP DORE R 


crazy. Lobsang was of the opinion that we would get into trouble if 
the husbands happened to return at that moment. On one occasion, we 
came upon twenty-five tents; but, bargain as we would, none of the 
Tanguts was willing to accompany us as guide. 

The valley grew more lively as we approached the monastery of 
Dulan-kit, where a Hutuktu Gigen, or ‘Living Buddha,” resided. On 
the night of our encampment at the small Tsagan-nor (the White 
Lake), we again heard ghastly howls near by, which led us to believe 
that the Tanguts were collecting for a decisive attack. But I was tired, 
and fell asleep. In the morning, I was told that this time the howling 
had been that of wolves, who had approached as far as the tents, and 
had had an encounter with our dogs. 

The next day, we met a caravan of about fifty Tanguts. They had 
been to Tenkar, a small town, to buy flour and other supplies for the 
winter. They camped near us, and prowled around our tents during 
the night, hoping to be able to steal something. 

Next came a desolate region, where we saw neither man nor beast. 
But at night, the miserable howling of the wolves was heard, and the 
dogs barked themselves hoarse. 

After crossing the half-frozen Yak River (Bukhain-gol), we beheld 
a magnificent view in the east, the enormous Koko-nor (the Blue Lake), 
the colours of which shifted from one glorious malachite-green shade 
to another. The lake was large, but not so large that ‘“‘periodic ebb and 
flood” was noticeable on its shores, as good Abbé Huc (1846) tells us 
in his travel-records. Its altitude is 10,000 feet. ‘Tanguts tented 
along its shores in winter; but in summer they moved to fresh pasturage 
in the highlands. From our road along the northern shore, we had a 
fine view of the mountains south of the lake-basin. There was a small, 
rocky island in the lake, inhabited by some poor hermits. They lived 
on voluntary offerings from pilgrims and nomads, who, when the winter 
was at its coldest, would walk across the ice to the island. This was 
quite a risky walk, because a heavy storm might arise and break the ice 
up, when the walkers were midway. But their errand was one that was 
acceptable to the gods, and they willingly took the risk. 

Large herds of antelope grazed on the shores of this lake; and once 
we surprised six wolves lying in wait for them in a ravine. We often 
saw tents and herds of sheep. On one occasion, we met a caravan of 
sixty yaks, laden with maize, which the merchants were going to sell to 


THE TANGU Ivy ROBBERS 235 


the Koko-nor Tanguts. Another time, a whole valley seemed to be 
filled with men and animals. It was a travelling train of Dsun-sasak 
Mongols, who had been in Tenkar, laying in their winter supplies. It 
comprised one thousand horses, three hundred camels, three hundred 
horsemen, with a hundred and fifty rifles, besides women and children. 
A rumbling noise from the tramping of the horses’ hoofs filled the valley 
as they went past. 

When the Tanguts asked Lobsang what was in our boxes, he, with- 
out winking an eye, replied that the large ones contained two soldiers, 
and the small ones only one. I had a small, light stove, of sheet iron, 
with a stovepipe, for heating my tent. Lobsang said it was a gun. 
The Tanguts expressed their astonishment that a gun should be heated, 
whereupon Lobsang explained that this was the common practice when 
the weapon was ready for action. He told them that balls were 
showered over the enemy through the tin pipe, and that no earthly 
power could resist such a hail of bullets. 

Beyond the Khara-kottel Pass, we came to regions which had an’ 
outlet to the sea by the Hwang-ho (the Yellow River). I had spent 
fully three years, up to that time, in territory from which no drop of 
water reached the ocean. But I was still nine hundred miles from 
Peking. I was longing to reach the capital of China; and yet it seemed 
unattainable to me. 

The farther east we got, the livelier the country became. We met 
camel-caravans, horsemen, pedestrians, carts, droves of cattle, and 
sheep-herds. We rode through villages surrounded by poplars, birches, 
willows, and larches; passed bridges, temples and chortens (sacred 
menuments) ; and at last entered the city gate of Tenkar. 

I had heard that there was a Christian mission in this city, and so I 
betook myself to the Chinese house where the missionaries lived. The 
head of the mission, Mr. Rijnhart, a Dutchman, had gone to Peking; 
but Dr. Susie C. Rijnhart, his wife, a learned, amiable, and talented 
American, received me most hospitably, and secured lodgings for my 
men and myself. This brave and capable lady was soon to meet with 
the most terrible misfortune that can befall a woman. In 1898, accom- 
panied by her husband and her little son, she tried to penetrate to 
Lhasa. At Nakchu, they were forced to turn back. The child died; 
and the Tibetans stole their horses, not far from the place where the 
Frenchman, Dutreuil de Rhins, was murdered, in 1894. Bereft of every- 


236 Moy ST RE (AS AUN poe AP OTR 


thing, Mr. and Mrs. Rijnhart rested on the bank of the Tsachu River, 
on the opposite bank of which some Tibetan tents were visible. Mr. 
Rijnhart attempted to swim across the river. His wife saw him dis- 
appear behind a rock; and as he had espied other tents, nearer by, she 
thought he would soon return. But he did not come. She waited all 
day. Days and nights passed, but he was never heard from again. 
Nobody knows whether he was drowned or killed. After sorrows and 
sufferings almost too great to be borne, Mrs. Rijnhart finally managed 
to reach China, and then went home to America. 

From the hospitable house of the Rijnharts, I went to the famous 
monastery of Kum-bum, a whole city of temple-buildings, resplendent 
under gilded roofs. ‘There I paid my respects to the prior, a “Living 
Buddha,” who gave his blessing to my friend Lobsang. I viewed the 
colossal figure of ‘Tsong Kapa, the reformer, and also saw the wonderful 
tree, of which Abbé Huc relates that every spring the sacred formula, 
‘(Om mani padme hum,” is lettered automatically on its leaves. But 
Lobsang whispered in my ear that the lamas themselves printed the holy 
syllables on the leaves at night. 

On November 23, we got a late start, and night was quite far ad- 
vanced before we stopped, in the darkness outside the city gate of 
Si-ning. A watchman was pacing the wall, and beating a drum. Having 
pounded in vain on the gate with our riding-whips, we hailed the watch- 
man, and promised him a liberal tip if he would open for us. After 
much arguing, he sent a messenger to the governor’s yamen for orders. 
We waited an hour and a half before the reply came. It was to the 
effect that the gate would be opened at daybreak! 

We had no choice but to spend the night in a nearby village. The 
next day, we went to see Ridley, Hunter, and Hall, of the China Inland 
Mission, who, during the days I spent with the family of the first- 
mentioned, overwhelmed me with indescribable kindness and hospitality. 

My manner of living, as well as my mode of travelling, underwent a 
change here. I dismissed all my attendants except Islam Bai. I paid 
them twice the amount due them, and made them a present of all but two 
of the horses. As they were Chinese subjects, it was easy to get them a 
pass to their mother-country through the Dao Tai of Si-ning. 

And there I was, with seven hundred and seventy taels left, and still 
three months distant from Peking! . 


CHAPTER Mex x | 
On to Peking 


HE remaining months of my long journey resembled very much 
a race back to civilization; and so I will now quickly relate 
our adventures. | 

Islam Bai was, as I have said, my sole retainer now. He 
was responsible for the baggage. We drove with carts and mules to 
Ping-fan, and with large Turkestan carts and horses on to Liang-chow- 
fu. Upon crossing the Shi-ming-ho, the wheels of our first cart cut 
like knives through the none-too-strong ice, but eventually the vehicle 
got over safely. The other cart got hopelessly stuck in the ice-sludge. 
All of the baggage in it had to be carried ashore; and a Chinese—I still 
shiver when I think of him—stripped and walked out into the deep river, 
to remove the lumps of ice that had accumulated in front of the wheels. 
The whole business took four hours. 

After many other adventures, we drove in through the beautiful 
city gate of Liang-chow-fu, and made our way to the house of an Eng- 
lish missionary family, named Belcher, where we were warmly and 
hospitably received. The temperature of the chapel, however, in which 
I spent twelve nights, was not so warm. It was heated only on Sun- 
days. On other days, the mercury would go down to 4° in there. I 
bought a sho-lo, or brass hand-stove, shaped like a teapot, in which a 
few pieces of charcoal, embedded in the ashes, would stay aglow a 
whole day or night. 

My long stay in Liang-chow-fu was necessitated by the difficulty of 
securing draft-animals for Ning-sha. I used up the time exploring in 
and around the town. The most memorable excursion was one I made 
to the scholarly and kind Belgian missionaries in the village of Sung- 
shu-choang. It was strange to see Chinese peasants, of their own 
accord, leave their work in the fields, and enter the church, to cross 
themselves before a statue of the Virgin Mary. I was told that many 
families had been Catholics, from father to son, through seven 
generations. 

237 


238 MY LIFE AS CAN TR See Ek 


At last we found a nice Chinese, who, for fifty taels, offered to take 
Islam, me, and all the luggage, on nine camels, over the two hundred and 
eighty miles that separated us from Ning-sha. Our road led through 
the sandy deserts of Ala-shan, Ulan-alesu (the Red Sand), and the 
capital of Wang-yeh-fu, in Ala-shan, where I spent an agreeable hour 
with jovial old Norvo, a vassal prince under the Emperor of China. 

In Ning-sha, too, I was received with open arms by two good and 
benevolent missionaries, Mr. and Mrs. Pilquist, who, moreover, were 
countrymen of mine. 

From Ning-sha, it was still six hundred and seventy miles to Peking. 


\ 
Prag Z 
1G, Yi. YS 


IN THE ICE OF THE RIVER 


Asia is indeed boundless! One rides for months, and years, before the 
continent is crossed! Our next stage included the crossing of Ordos, a 
steppe and desert, which, on the west, north, and east, was bounded by 
the curve of the Yellow River, and on the south by the Great Wall. 
The camels covered no great distance in a day; and it took us eighteen 
days of travelling to make the three hundred and sixty miles to Paoto. 
At the point where we crossed the Hwang-ho on its thick ice, the 
river was 1,122 feet wide. ‘A week later, we were riding through deso- 
late stretches of desert, only rarely seeing Mongol tents. We camped 


ON. TOP PEK LNG Zoo 


at ancient, well-known wells, which were always very deep. The well 
of Bao-yah-ching was a hundred and thirty-four feet deep. The cold 
was penetrating, the lowest temperature being —27.4°. Inside the tent 
it was sometimes —16.2°. 

Yet the worst of all was the constant, icy, dust-laden, northwest 
wind that swept across the land, and made us stiff with cold, where we 
sat between the humps of our riding-camels. I always kept my little 
sho-lo with glowing coals on. my lap; otherwise my hands would have 
frozen during this trying ride. On January 31, we had a veritable 
hurricane, and travelling was absolutely out of the question. ‘The entire 
desert-plain disappeared in thick clouds of whirling dust. We = sat 
crouched in our miserable little tents, trying to maintain body-heat inside 
our furs. 

It was delightful to cross the Hwang-ho again at a spot where the. 
river measured 1,263 feet from bank to bank, and to ride into Bao-to, 
where again I was put up by Swedish missionaries, Mr. and Mrs. 
Helleberg, of the American Missionary Society of the Christian Alli- 
ance. These splendid and self-sacrificing people were killed, with 
innumerable others, during the Boxer uprising, in 1900. 

Here I left Islam and the caravan, which was to continue to Kalgan, 
while I myself went to that town via Kwei-hwa-chung, travelling in a 
small, blue cart, with two Chinese. Along this road, there was a whole 
string of American mission-stations, with which sixty-one Swedes were 
associated. Thus I lived in Swedish homes during my entire journey to 
Kalgan. In that city, I was the guest of Missionary Larson. Little 
did I think, then, that twenty-six years later, in November, 1923, I 
would make a motor-trip with him from Kalgan to Urga, straight 
through all of Mongolia. 

At Kalgan, I hired a to-jo (a palanquin), borne by two mules, and 
travelled down the Nan-kou valley to Peking in four days, a stretch that 
is now traversed by train in seven hours. On March 2, we got down 
into the lowlands northwest of Peking. I was a prey to the greatest 
excitement and impatience. For was I not in front of the goal which I 
had been approaching for three years and six months? ‘The hours 
dragged slowly, and the mules tripped even more slowly, paying no heed 
to the calls of their two drivers. 

We went through villages and gardens. I caught a glimpse at sun- 
set, of something grey between the trees. It was the city wall of 


240 MY ,LLEE PAS GAN Wea bar 


Peking! I felt as if I were on the way to the greatest feast of my life. 
I was alone with two Chinese, with whom conversation was limited to 
the most common words of their language. But now, inside of half an 
hour, my voluntary wanderings in the interior of Asia would come to 
an end, and I would again embrace the comforts—and discomforts—of 
civilization. 

My palanquin went, swaying like a boat, in under the arch of one 
of the south gates of the Tatar city. Advancing along the Street of 
the Ambassadors, I saw, on the left, a white gateway, outside which a 
couple of Cossacks stood guard. I called to them, and inquired whose 


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MY MULE-LITTER ARRIVING IN PEKING 


house that was. ‘The Russian Legation,” they replied. Splendid! At 
that time Sweden was not yet represented in ‘“The Middle Kingdom.” 
I jumped out of my rocking box, and crossed a large court to a house 
built in a noble Chinese style, and crowded with Chinese servants. A 
lackey announced me; and, within two minutes, M. Pavloff, Russia’s 
chargé d’affaires, came out and received me. He congratulated me 
heartily upon the accomplishment of my journey, and told me that he 
had already long since received an order from the Foreign Office in St. 
Petersburg, that the apartment generally occupied by Count Cassini, the 
minister, who was now on leave in his home country, was to be placed 
at my disposal. 


ON TO PEKING 241 


Aga Mohammed Hassan’s palace in Kermanshah came to my mind! 
This time, too, I was arriving, weary and with an empty purse, and 
with no more luggage than I could carry myself, from the depths of the 
desert and from naked Mongol tents, to find a suite of drawing-rooms, 
dining-rooms, and bedrooms, adorned with Chinese carpets and silk 
embroideries, antique, costly bronzes, and vases and bowls from the 
days of Kang Hi and Chieng Lung! 

I was really so destitute that it took me three days to rig myself 
out from head to foot with all that was required to turn a vagabond 
into a gentleman. And not until this had been done, could I call at the 
various legations, and throw myself headlong into the whirl of dinner- 
parties and feasts. 

My most pleasant memory of Peking is my acquaintance with Li 
Hung Chang, the world-famous, wise old statesman. He was also con- 
sidered to be one of the wealthiest Chinese of his age. Yet he lived very 
simply and unpretentiously in the midst of this hopeless labyrinth of 
houses and alleys. At that time, the streets of Peking were terribly 
narrow and dirty; and people did not, as now, use automobiles or car- 
riages, or, what is even worse, trolley-cars. Even the rickshaw had 
hardly a foothold in Peking. It was out of the question to walk, be- 
cause of the dirt in the streets, and the great distances. One had either 
to ride, or to be carried in a sedan-chair. 

Smiling jovially, Li Hung Chang received M. Pavloft and me; and 
after inquiring about my journey and my plans, he invited us to dinner 
a few days later. . 

That dinner was really a wonderful affair! The small, round table 
was laid in the centre of an average-sized room, the walls of which were 
without decoration save for two photographs. Upon our entrance, the 
old man, with evident satisfaction, at once directed our attention to 
these photographs. One picture represented Li Hung Chang and Bis- 
marck, the other Li Hung Chang and Gladstone. He smiled conde- 
scendingly, as if to intimate that the two European statesmen were 
veritable pygmies in comparison with himself, and that they might well 
have been grateful for the honour of being photographed on the same 
plates with him. 

The food was European, and champagne flowed freely. We talked, 
through an interpreter, of Li Hung Chang’s journey to the coronation 
in Moscow the year before (1896), and of his visits to several Euro- 


242 MY LIFE AS AN EXPLORER 


pean countries and to the United States. We also talked about my 
travels through Asia. The conversation had several piquant points. 
To judge from Li Hung Chang’s experience, all Europeans who visited 
Peking had selfish motives, and came there only for the sake of gain. 
He believed this was true of me also, and said quite frankly: 

“Of course, you have come here to get a professorship in the Uni- 
versity of Tientsin?””’ 

“No, thank you!” I replied. “Should Your Excellency offer me such 
a post, with a minister’s salary, I would not accept it.” 

Speaking of the King of Sweden, he used the title, wang, which 
means vassal prince. 

Pavloff explained that Sweden had a most independent and very 
powerful king, who ranked with all the other European monarchs. 
Then I inquired: 

“Why did not Your Excellency visit Sweden last year, when you 
were so near?’ 

“T did not have time to see all your countries over there. But tell 
me about Sweden and how people live in your country.” 

“Sweden,” said I, “‘is a large and happy country. The winters are 
not immoderately cold there, the summers not too hot. ‘There are no 
deserts or steppes, only fields, forests, and lakes. There are no scor- 
pions or dangerous snakes, and wild beasts are scarce. There are no 
rich and no poor i 

At this point, Li Hung Chang interrupted me; and, turning to 
Pavloff, he said: 

‘What an extraordinary country! I should advise the Czar of 
Russia to take Sweden.” 

Pavloff became embarrassed, and did not know how to get out of 
this. He answered: 

“Tmpossible, Your Excellency! The Swedish king and the Czar are 
the greatest friends on earth, and have no evil intentions toward each 
other.” 

Li Hung Chang then put this question to me: 

“You say that you have travelled through East Turkestan, northern 
Tibet, Tsaidam, and southern Mongolia. Why did you really traverse 
those vassal states of ours?” 

‘In order to explore and map out their unknown parts, examine the 
geographical, geological, and botanical conditions, etc., and, above all, 


ONG DO PEK UNG 243 


to find out if there were not some provinces suitable for the Swedish 
king to annex!”’ 

Li Hung Chang laughed good-humouredly, put his thumbs in the 
air, and exclaimed: “Bravo, bravo!’ I had got my revenge. But 
instead of pursuing the subject of an eventual Swedish conquest of 
China’s vassal states, he thought he would get me into a quandary on 
another topic, and asked accordingly: 

“So that’s it! You study the geological conditions, too. Well now, 
if you came riding across a plain, and saw a mountain rise in the distance 
above the horizon, could you tell right off whether that mountain con- 
tained gold or not?” 

“No, not at all! I would first have to ride up to the mountain and 
subject it to careful petrographic examination.” 

“Oh, thank you! ‘That takes no skill. I can do that, too. The 
thing is to decide from afar whether or not there is gold.” 

I had to admit defeat on that score. Anyhow, the contest was an 
honourable one, considering that my adversary was China’s greatest 
statesman in modern times. In this vein, our conversation went on 
during the whole dinner. And when it was over, we exchanged fare- 
wells, and left for home in our rocking sedan-chairs. 

After a twelve-day stay in Peking, I returned to Kalgan, acess 
Islam had meanwhile gone with the luggage. I had decided to go home 
by way of Mongolia and Siberia. The Trans-Siberian Railway was 
then completed only to Kansk, east of the Yenisei, and consequently I 
had to travel by carriage and sledge for eighteen hundred miles. 

Arrived in St. Petersburg, I paid my respects for the first time to 
Czar Nicholas II, at his palace at Tsarskoe Selo. In the years to come, 
I was to see him again frequently. I received a card through the Swed- 
ish Legation, giving the day and the hour that ‘His Majesty the 
Emperor had deigned to set for the audience,” and all the other details 
as to train for Tsarskoe Selo and carriage to the palace. A lackey was to 
meet the guest at the station and accompany him to the palace. On the 
way from the station to the palace, I was stopped a couple of times by 
mounted Circassians or Cossacks, and had to prove by the card that I 
was the person expected. 

The Czar wore a colonel’s uniform, and produced the impression 
less of an emperor than of an ordinary man, being simple and unpre- 
tentious. He showed a great and benevolent interest in my travels, and 


244 MY LIFE CAS (AN PEXPLUOR ER 


revealed himself as very much at home with the geography of interior 
Asia. He spread out a huge map of Central Asia on a table, so that 
I might retrace my route on it. He underlined with a red crayon my 
principal stops, such as Kashgar, the Yarkand-daria, Khotan, Takla- 
makan, Lop-nor, etc., and knowingly referred to the regions where I 
had touched on territory explored by Przhevalsky. He was particu- 
larly interested to hear about the Anglo-Russian Boundary Commission 
at Pamir, in whose quarters I had spent some days. He asked me 
frankly what I thought of the boundary-line drawn between the Russian 
and the Anglo-Indian provinces on “The Roof of the World,” and I 
could only answer, according to my conviction, that it would have been 
more natural and simple to let the border follow the main ridge of 
the Hindu-kush, which separates the waters, than to cut through the level 
tableland, where it had to be marked by artificial piles of stone, and 
where friction might easily arise because of the wanderings of the 
nomads. 

The Czar knit his brows, stamped the floor, and exclaimed em- 
phatically: 

‘That is just what I have pointed out all the time; but nobody has 
told me the plain and simple truth of the matter!” 

Afterwards, when he heard of my intention of undertaking a new 
expedition to the heart of Asia, he asked me to inform him of the plan 
and details, when the time for my departure approached; for he wished 
to do all he could to assist me in my enterprise. He showed later on 
that this promise was not so many empty words. 

A few days later, on May 10, 1897, I went, by steamer, from Finland 
to Stockholm. My parents, sisters, and friends were standing on the 
quay; and our joy at meeting again was indescribable. Had I not been 
within a hair’s-breadth of never returning? ‘That very same day, I 
called on the old King, my principal benefactor, and was royally hon- 
oured by him. But there was no trace of the triumphal procession that 
I had dreamt of as a schoolboy, that time when Nordenskiold returned 
to Stockholm. ‘The whole city was thinking only of the great exhibition 
which was then about to open. 

On May 13, a couple of friends and I gave an intimate little fare- 
well-dinner for Andrée, who, with two companions, was going to Spits- 
bergen, thence to sail across the North Pole to Bering Strait, in his 
balloon, “The Eagle.’’ Andrée made a stirring speech, in which he 


Chane eG ery TING 245 


congratulated me upon returning from my long years in Asia, and upon 
being privileged to bring back to Sweden all the accrued results. He 
himself stood on the threshold of an enterprise, the outcome of which 
was shrouded in uncertainty. I replied, expressing my warm hope that 
his flight across the seas and the ice-fields would be a brilliant success, 
and that we, who were now wishing him a happy journey, might be 
allowed to gather around him on his victorious return, bid him welcome, 
and be happy that the sadness which now moved us had been turned into 
rejoicing. 

He left Stockholm on May 15. On July 11, he rose from the 
northern shore of Spitsbergen, and ‘“The Eagle” disappeared beyond 
the horizon. He never returned; and to this day nothing has been 
learned of his fate or of that of his companions. But the memory of the 
glorious deed is still alive, and we are proud that the first men who 
attempted the daring feat of sailing over the North Pole through the 
air were Swedes. 

On the evening of that same day, only a few hours after Andrée’s 
departure, the King gave a supper, in his palace, for eight hundred 
persons, to celebrate the opening of the exposition. Fridtjof Nansen, 
having completed his journey across the Arctic Ocean, in the ‘“‘Fram,”’ 
had been received in Stockholm two weeks before my return home. 
Now it was my turn. The official toasts had been drunk. A contem- 
porary account of the event reads: ‘‘Once more the King took the floor, 
and his voice, always so beautiful, rang with a particularly warm timbre.” 
Tall and white-haired, he walked in among the guests, and made a 
speech for me. He said, in part: ‘‘At the risk of his life, and with 
indomitable energy, Nansen has searched for land among the ice- 
fields of the Arctic Ocean. Sven Hedin, a son of Sweden, at equal risk 
of life, and with indomitable energy, has searched for water—the water 
that does not flow very freely in the sandy deserts and steppes of interior 
Asia. A king’s duties are often heavy, but his privileges are often 
precious. I am exercising one of these privileges when, in the name of 
the Swedish nation, I address myself to the political and social repre- 
sentatives of that people assembled here, and call on them to join with 
me as spokesman of the sentiments cherished by the Swedish people, 
when I cry aloud the name of Sven Hedin.” 

My aged father attended the party, and was at least as happy as 
I at the King’s tribute to me. 


246 MY LIPEE AS AN? BORE 


It would be easy to fill an entire book with accounts of the receptions 
that were given me by almost all the geographical societies in Europe. 
Paris, St. Petersburg, Berlin, and London surpassed all other cities in 
that respect. I was showered with medals and royal distinctions. I 
remember with particular gratitude my old teacher, Baron von Richt- 
hofen, of the Berlin Geographical Society; Felix Faure, President of 
the French Republic; Milne Edwards and Roland Bonaparte, of the 
Geographical Society in Paris; old Semenoff, in St. Petersburg; the 
Prince of Wales (later King Edward VII); my old friend Sir Clements 
Markham, President of the Royal Geographical Society of London; 
and many others. The Royal Geographical Society of London pre- 
sented me with one of its large, gold medals, The Founders’ Medal, and 
elected me an honorary member.*' During my stay in London, I was 
frequently at the house of Henry M. Stanley, the great explorer of 
Africa, who remained my friend for the rest of his life. Stanley was 
my best adviser at that time, when I received good offers, including one 
from Major Pond, to go over to America to lecture. That journey did 
not come off; for I had quite different plans in mind. 


1 Concerning my reception in London, see the Geographical Journal, Vol. XI, 1898, p. 
410 ff. 


CF Ae Ete ie cick ohn D 
Back to the Deserts! 


N Midsummer Day (June 24), 1899, when the lilacs were in 

full bloom, I set out for the heart of Asia for the fourth time. 

My chief backers were King Oscar and Emanuel Nobel. The 

instruments, four cameras, with twenty-five hundred plates, 

stationery and drawing-materials, presents for the natives, clothes and 

books, in short, all the luggage, weighed 1,130 kilos, and was packed in 

twenty-three boxes. A James Patent Folding-Boat, from London, with 

mast, sail, oars, and life-buoys, was to play an important part in that 
expedition. | 

The parting with my parents, sisters, and brother was, as usual, 
the hardest part of the whole journey. The joyous part came after- 
wards, as I experienced the ever-renewed charm of the unknown at 
every stage. I longed for the open air, and for great adventures on 
lonely roads. 

I had been to see the Czar, and had shown him the plan for the 
new expedition, a few months before my departure. He did everything 
to facilitate my undertaking. Free transportation, free carriage, and 
exemption from customs-duties on all the Russian railways, in Europe and 
Asia, were accorded me; and the Czar himself offered me an escort of 
about twenty Cossacks, who were not to cost me one copeck. I told him 
that this was far too many, and that four men would do; so we decided 
on that number. The Cossack question was duly settled with General 
Kuropatkin, Minister of War. 

I had to make 3,180 miles by rail, to Andishan, in Russian Turkestan. 
At Krasnovodsk, on the eastern shore of the Caspian Sea, the drawing- 
room car which was to be my home throughout my journey in Asiatic 
Russia, was prepared for me. I could stay as long as I liked in the 
various cities, and had only to specify the train to which I should like 
my car to be attached. My car was always at the rear end of the train; 

247 


248 MY LIFE AS. .AN EX PUORER 


and from its back platform I enjoyed a full view of the fleeting land- 
scape. 

Islam Bai was waiting for me, when I arrived at Andishan. He 
wore a blue cloak; and the King’s gold medal adorned his breast. We 
were happy to meet again, and to try our luck together once more. I 
ordered him to hurry to Osh, with all my luggage, and to make arrange- 
ments with the caravan-driver who was to help us to Kashgar. Mean- 
while, I stayed at the house of my old friend, Colonel Saitseff. 

With seven men and twenty-six horses, and two puppies, Yoldash 
and Dovlet, each about a month old, I set out on July 31. In the two- 
hundred-and-seventy-mile trudge across the mountains to Kashgar, I 
had to cross the pass of Tong-burun, the watershed between the Aral 
Sea and the Lop-nor. All Asia lay before me! I felt like a conqueror 
before a whole world of discoveries, which lay waiting for me in the 
depths of the deserts and on the summits of the mountains. For the 
three years that this journey was to last, my first rule was to visit only 
regions where no one had been before; and the majority of my survey 
in 1,149 sheets actually represented hitherto-unexplored land. 

It was delightful to listen again, in a tent, to the wind murmuring 
in the tops of the trees, and to the clangour of bells of large camel- 
caravans. The Kirghiz wandered in the pastures with their herds as of 
yore; and at a practicable ford they helped us take our horses across 
the dangerous, foaming. Kizil-zu (the Red River). 

In Kashgar, I met only old friends, namely, Consul-General Petroy- 
sky, Sir George Macartney, and Father Hendricks. Hoglund, the 
- Swedish missionary, with his family and assistants, had founded a 
Christian mission in the city. As before, Petrovsky helped me, both by 
word and by deed. For 11,500 roubles, I bought 161 Chinese silver 
yambas, which weighed 300 kilos. They were packed in several boxes, 
so as to reduce the chance of theft or complete loss. At that time, a 
yamba cost seventy-one roubles. Later on, when I needed more money, 
the yamba had risen in price to ninety roubles. We purchased fifteen 
splendid Bactrian camels, only two of which survived our adventures. 
Nias Haji and Turdu Bai were appointed caravan-leaders. The latter, 
a white-bearded old man, worth his weight in gold, stayed in my employ 
till the end of the journey. Faizullah, too, was a reliable camel-driver 
and young Kader was employed because he knew how to write, for 
occasionally letters in the East Turkestan language had to be sent. Two 


BAGK'TO VHEe DES EARS! 249 


of the Czar’s Cossacks, Sirkin and Chernoff, of Semiryetchensk, I took 
with me from Kashgar. The other two were to join me at my camp 
on the Lop-nor. 

At two o'clock in the afternoon, on September 5, we set forth, in 
burning sunshine. To the clanging of large, bronze bells, the heavily- 
laden caravan advanced between villages, gardens, and fields, away from 
Kashgar. In every direction, the country consisted of smooth, yellow 
loess. Yellow clouds of dust whirled about the camels and horses. It 
grew dark above the mountains in the northwest. A gust of wind, 
heralding a storm, swept the dust before it in thick clouds. The next 


2 oa-§ A 
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ARR ec 


CROSSING A BRIDGE IN A SMALL VILLAGE OUTSIDE OF KASHGAR 


moment, a violent rain whipped the ground, and peal after peal of 
thunder resounded. . We were deafened; the earth trembled; one might 
have thought the end of the world was near. In less than a minute, we 
were soaked. The clay softened, and became as slippery as soap. The 
camels lurched as if intoxicated. When they slipped and fell, they 
splashed mud in all directions. Piercing shrieks penetrated the air, as 
new wreckages occurred. We had to stop continually, to free fallen 
camels of their burdens, help them to their feet, and load them anew. 
Had this severe rain fallen during our desert march in Takla-makan, 


250 MY. SEB ASS AGN RX PO a 


the caravan would not have succumbed! Now its effect was harmful. 
Night, with its darkness, set in, as we made camp in a garden. 

After a walk of six days, across steppes and wilderness, we reached 
Lailik, situated on the Yarkand-daria, right opposite Merket, the village 
where we had begun our disastrous desert-journey. Not far from this 
village, on the right bank of the river, we found a barge for sale. It 
resembled the one at Yarkand, which conveyed caravans and carts 
across the river. We bought it for one and a half yamba. It was 
thirty-eight feet long, eight feet wide, and, when loaded, drew scarcely 
a foot of water. Having learned from natives that the river branched 
into several narrow arms near Maral-bashi, we built another, smaller 
boat. It was less than half the size of the other. This would enable 
us to continue the river-journey as far as to Lop-nor, regardless of 
conditions. 

A deck was built in the bow of the barge, and my tent was erected 
on that. Amidships, there was a square cabin, covered with black 
blankets, intended as a photographic dark-room. It was provided with 
built-in tables and shelves, and two basins, with clear water, for washing 
plates. Behind this cabin, the heavy luggage and the food-supplies 
were stowed; and on the after-deck, my attendants had their mess, in 
the open, around a clay fireplace. Thus I could get hot tea during the 
journey. A narrow passage ran along the port side, which kept com- 
munication open between stem and stern. 

In the opening of the tent, two of my boxes were placed, to serve as 
observation-tables, and a third, smaller box did duty as a chair. From 
this point, I had an unobstructed view of the river, and could draw a 
detailed map of its course. ‘The interior of the tent was provided with 
a rug, my bed, and such boxes as I needed constantly. 

The wharf presented a lively scene. Carpenters were sawing and 
hammering, smiths were forging, and the Cossacks supervised the whole 
affair. But autumn had already come, and the river was sinking daily. 
We had to hurry. When everything was ready, we launched the proud 
vessel, which, for almost three months, was to be my home, and was 
to take me nine hundred miles along a river that had never before been 
mapped out in detail. In the evening, I gave a party for our workmen 
and the people of the neighbourhood. Chinese lanterns glowed among 
the tents; drums and string-music vied with my music-box; barefoot 
dancing-girls, whose hair hung in long braids, and who were dressed in 


BACK, TiOw PPE Ee DE SER TS) 251 


white, with pointed caps, danced around a roaring fire; anda festival 
spirit reigned on the shores of the Yarkand-daria. 

On September 17, we were ready to leave. With the Cossacks in 
the lead, the caravan set out through the brushwood. Going by way 
of the towns of Aksu and Kucha, it was to meet me two and a half 
months later at a certain point on the river. 

Islam Bai, Kader, and I embarked. The crew of the barge con- 
sisted of three men, Palta, Naser, and Alim. Two were placed in the 
stern, and one in the bow. ‘They carried long poles, with which to stave 
the boat off, in case we got too close to the bank. A fourth man, Kasim, 
managed the smaller craft, which resembled a floating farm, with its 
cackling hens, fragrant melons, and vegetables. [wo sheep were 
tethered on board the large boat. Here, too, Dovlet and Yoldash, the 
puppies, made themselves very much at home, right from the start. 

At our starting-point, the river was four hundred and forty feet 
wide, and nine feet deep. Its velocity was three feet a second, and its 
volume 3,430 cubic feet a second. It was afternoon when I gave the 
command to cast off. We glided away gloriously between the woody 
banks. At the first turning, Lailik disappeared behind us. 

The next bend found us in shallow water, quite close to the shore, 
where some women and children, who had been waiting for us, hurried 
into the water with gifts of milk, eggs, and vegetables, getting silver 
coins in return. They were the families of our crew, bidding us a last 
farewell. | 

Soon I was seated at my writing-table, the first sheet of paper, 
compass, watch, pencils, and field-glass before me, looking out over the 
magnificent river, which described erratic turns, as it wound through 
the desert. Like the snail, we carried our house with us, and were 
always at home. The landscape came gliding towards me, silently and 
slowly, without my having to take a single step, or rein in a horse. New 
prospects of wooded capes, dark thickets, or waving reeds opened at 
every turn. Islam placed a tray with hot tea and bread on my table. 
Solemn silence surrounded us. It was broken only where the water 
rippled around a bough, stuck in the mud, or when the crew had to stave 
the boat off from the banks, or when the dogs chased each other, or 
stood still in the bow, barking at a shepherd, who stood outside his tent 
of brush and branches, petrified, like a statue, watching our boats go by. 
I entered into the life of the river; I felt the beating of its pulse. Every 


252 MY* LIEBE iAS ‘ANY EXPLORER 


day was to add to my knowledge of its habits. Never have I made a 
more idyllic journey than this one. I still cherish its memory. 

A halt! We scraped something. The bow of the barge was fast on 
a poplar-trunk grounded in the river-bed, and the boat swung half-way 
around. It seemed as if the sun were rolling along the sky. I used the 
opportunity to measure the velocity of the current. But soon Palta and 
his comrades jumped overboard, and got us afloat. Then we glided 
along till twilight set in, and we camped for the first time on this river- 
trip. 

The boat was moored, the men went ashore, made a fire, and pre- 
pared a meal. The puppies scrambled to land and pursued each other 
among the bushes, but returned afterwards to my tent on the boat, 
where I spent my nights, while the men slept at the camp-fire. Before 
I finished my notes for the day, Islam Bai served me with rice-pudding, 
broiled wild duck, cucumbers, sour milk, eggs, and tea; and the puppies 
got their fair share. The tent was open. The moon-path wound and 
twisted over the eddying river. Enchantment was in the air.- It was 
hard to wrench myself away from the view of the dark forest and the 
silvery river. 

To save time, we set out again as soon as the sun was up. Tea was 
brewed on the fire in the stern. I dressed and washed after we were on 
our way. Palta sat in front of me, with his pole, singing a song about 
the adventures of a legendary king. A shepherd on the bank answered 
some questions, as we slowly glided past his point of land. 

‘What kind of game is there in your forests?” 

‘Red deer, roe-deer, boars, wolves, foxes, lynxes, hares!” 

“No tigers?” 

‘No, we have not seen a tiger for a long time.” 

‘When will the river freeze?” 

“Tn seventy or eighty days.” 

We had to hurry. The volume of water diminished quickly in the 
autumn. After two days’ journey, it had already become reduced to 
2,350 cubic feet a second. The wind was our worst enemy. ‘The tent 
and the cabin acted like sails. In a head-wind, the speed of the boat 
decreased; and when the wind was behind us, we moved faster than 
we wished. One day, we had not gone far, when a violent wind forced 
us to make for shore. I then took the yawl, hoisted its sail, and flew up 
the river before a smacking breeze. The barge, together with the 


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BACK’ FOG THEADESERTS ! 253 


shores and the forests, disappeared in a yellow-grey haze. I enjoyed 
the peacefulness and solitude. Then I took down the mast and sail, 
and lay down in the bottom of the boat, leaving the current to do the 
rest. 

The wind subsided, and we proceeded. Sometimes Islam had him- 
self rowed ashore, to wander through the underbrush, gun on shoulder. 
He always returned with pheasants and wild ducks, thus providing a 
welcome variety to my bill of fare. Once he took the other men along, 
and they stayed away seven hours. We saw them at length, stretched 
out, on a point of land, sound asleep. ‘The barge glided past them 
noiselessly, and they did not awake. I sent a man ashore in the yawl, 
to wake them up, and to bring them on board. 

The wild geese had begun to stir, and were gathering for their 
long flight to India. We had brought with us a captured wild goose 
from Lailik. Its wings had been clipped, and it walked freely about 
on the large boat. Now and then he would visit me in my tent, and 
deposit his visiting-card (which looked like spinach) on the rug. When 
we camped, he was allowed to swim about in the river at his pleasure; 
and he always returned voluntarily. Upon hearing his cousins shrieking 
in the air, he would cock his head and gaze up at them. Perhaps he 
thought of the mango trees and the palms on the banks of the Ganges. 

On September 23, we reached the critical place of which the people 
in Merket had warned us; for there the river divided into several 
rapidly rushing arms. The river-bed narrowed. We were carried 
along at breakneck speed by the current. The water seethed and foamed 
around us. We flew down a rapids. The passage was so narrow, and 
the turns so abrupt, that the boats could not be steered off; and the big 
boat struck the shore so violently, that my boxes were nearly carried 
overboard. Before we knew where we were, we were swept down two 
more rapids. The river had dug itself a new bed for a short distance. 
There were no forests here; but the tamarisks were still standing in the 
river, and the driftwood and poplar-trunks that had piled up against 
them, formed veritable little islets. The water swirled all the way; and 
we moved so swiftly, that the barge nearly capsized when we struck the 
ground violently. At times, we got so thoroughly enmeshed in the drift- 
wood, that we could work ourselves loose again only with great diffi- 
culty. The river had become shallower, for its several branches robbed 
it of water. Finally, the bed that we followed became so shallow, that 


254 MOY. TISD RE? TA St ACN SX PA Oi Pik 


the whole outfit got stuck in its blue-clay bottom. The crew were 
despatched to some near-by villages for aid. They returned with thirty 
men, who took all our luggage ashore, and then dragged the barge, inch 
by inch, across the shallow place. After that, only the last and steepest 
rapids remained. I stayed alone on board. The men held the barge in 
place by means of a long rope, thus preventing its turning crosswise and 
being upset in the torrent. It glided neatly over the brink of the rapids, 
and then tipped down like a seesaw. ‘The current next showed itself in 
a narrow channel, where we were kept constantly on the alert, to avoid 
being wrecked, as we dashed along. 

We were still in the newly-formed bed, where the shores were bare, 
and animal life was scarce. Only here and there were growths of reeds, 
with tracks of boars and roe-deer. An eagle sat watching us, and some 
ravens called across the river. —The dogs amused me considerably. They 
dashed about, from stem to stern, like happy sprites. At first they 
barked themselves hoarse at grounded poplar-trunks, which lay swaying 
in the current like black crocodiles. But they soon got used to them, 
and left them in peace. Soon they invented another game. In the 
middle of the trip, they jumped overboard and swam ashore, in order 
to follow us along the bank, and stalk game. Wherever the river bent 
so as to cause the barge to leave the bank on which the dogs were run- 
ning, they would swim across. ‘This unnecessary move was repeated 
time after time. In the end, they grew tired, swam out to the boat, 
and were hauled on board. 

The new river-bed ended, and we again drifted between old, majestic 
forests. The current was sluggish. ‘The forests grew mightier. 
Autumn had come. The leaves were yellow and red, but the tops of 
the poplars were dense, and no sun-ray reached down to us. We glided 
along, as on a canal in Venice; only here rose the forest instead of 
palaces. ‘The gondoliers slumbered at their poles. A mood of en- 
chantment charged with mystery pervaded the forest. It would not 
have surprised me to hear Pan playing on his pipes, or to see roguish 
wood-nymphs peep out from the dense thickets. A breath of air passed 
through the forest, and the yellow leaves rained down over the bright 
surface of the river. They brought to mind the yellow wreaths which 
the Brahmins offer to the sacred Ganges. 

The Yarkand-daria made the most crazy twists. At one point, only 
one-ninth was lacking for a complete circle. On another occasion, we 


BACK) TO) Ti Py DESERTS! 255 


had to drift 1,450 metres, in order to advance a distance of 180 metres. 
Another time, only one-twelfth of a complete circle was wanting. High 
water would soon cut through the narrow strip of land, and then the cur- 
rent would desert the old bend. 

We went very slowly. The river fell. The air grew colder. I 
wondered if we were going to be caught in the ice, before we reached 
our goal. 


CHAP TE Rs XxX al 
Our Life on the Largest River in the Very Heart of Asia 


N the last day of September, the landscape about us became 
altogether different. The forest ended, the level steppe 
stretched all around, and the Masar-tagh rose above the 
horizon like a sharply-defined cloud. At times, the mountain 

was before us; at other times it was to starboard or port, and even 
behind us, when the bends took us southwest instead of northeast. 

One day more, and to the north the snowy peaks of Tian-shan stood 
out like a faint background in the distance. The Masar-tagh became 
clearer; the contours grew sharper; and, when evening came, we en- 
camped at the foot of the mountain. A tent stood there, and friendly 
natives came down to the shore to sell wild ducks, geese, and fish, which 
they had caught in their traps and nets. The chieftain of the place was 
commissioned to ride to the nearest village on the caravan-road, to buy 
furs and boots for my crew, and rice, flour, and vegetables to replenish 
our food-supply. He was given sufficient money for his needs, and was 
told where to meet us. We ran the risk of his stealing the money and 
not returning; for he was a total stranger to all of us. But he did not 
dare to deceive us. He came to the appointed place, with his task well 
performed. 

Kasim, the pilot of our small boat, was skilful at catching fish. He 
made a fish-spear, and harpooned fish at a point where a small tributary 
formed a waterfall. After a few days more, we caught a glimpse of 
the Choka-tagh, being that part of the Masar-tagh from the southern 
end of which I had set out on my disastrous desert-journey. I wanted 
to see the place again, and to visit the lake from which we had taken 
too little water. The lake was joined to the river, and we were going 
to make the trip in the English yawl. Islam went with me. But he 
forgot to bring his rifle. In case we stayed away long, the men at home 
were to light a signal-fire at night. 


With a smacking wind from behind, we sailed away from the 
256 


fey eh LURE SEN Ee eR ARTs OPP IAST A 257 


river, through a strait that led to a first lake, where reeds grew thickly. 
But there was open water, too; and fourteen snow-white swans were 
swimming there, watching our craft with amazement, wondering if our 
white sails were the wings of a huge swan. Only when we were quite 
close to them did they rise, with noise and bluster, but only to descend 
a little farther away. 

A long strait connected this lake with its neighbour further south, 
called Chol-kol (the Desert Lake), at the southern end of which I had 
encamped on April 22, 1895. ‘There we went ashore. Palta.and two 
natives had followed us on land. Islam and the natives took charge 
of the boat, while Palta and I walked towards the Choka-tagh, later. 
returning to the camp by way of the eastern slope of the mountain. 

It took us a long time to reach the foot of the mountain and climb 
to its summit. By that time the sun was near the horizon. I stayed up 
there for a while. The view, from south to east, woke to life strange 
memories. The crests of the dunes, as far as I could see, shone with a 
red light, like glowing volcanoes. They rose like burial-mounds over 
my dead men and camels. Old Mohammed Shah! Could he forgive 
me, where he now refreshed his throat from paradisiacal springs, under 
the palm trees in Bihasht? 

I was one of the three survivors; and over there, far away, was the 
place where we had last pitched our tents among the dunes. I did not 
notice that the sun had set. I seemed to hear a funeral-song from the 
heart of the desert. It grew darker. I had a vision of ghostly shadows 
rushing up to me from the darkening dunes. 

Finally I was roused by a deer, which jumped lightly down a slope, 
and by Palta, who said: ‘The camp is far off, sir.” 

The descent was arduous. It was dark, and we had to exercise 
caution. We reached level ground, and stepped out northwards for a 
twenty-four mile walk. I was not used to walking, and felt dead-tired. 
At last the signal-fire appeared. It was baffling to walk towards the 
fire. It seemed to be quite near, yet it took hours to reach it. At mid- 
night, I was again back in my tent, on board. It was my first strenuous 
day during that expedition. But later on there were to be others! 

We left that memorable place on October 8, and continued our 
winding, tortuous way. ‘henceforth we had always on board one or 
two shepherds who knew the country, and were able to give informa- 
tion. Directly before us, a deer swam across the river. Islam got out 


258 MY* LIFE OAS ANTE MEL ORER 


his rifle in a hurry. But the distance was too great; he was too ex- 
cited, and missed. With one jump, the beautiful animal was on shore, 
and disappeared like a streak among the reeds. 

At nightfall, we pitched camp in the woody region of More. 
Dovlet, my pet dog, who for some days had been depressed, and was 
acting strangely, ran ashore, and searched anxiously among the bushes. 
Finally he fell in a cramp and died. I felt his loss bitterly. He had 
been a wretched little puppy when we first got him, in Osh. He had 
grown, and promised to become a fine-looking dog. Mbollah, a priest, 
who was a passenger of ours at the time, dug a grave, wrapped him in 


A HERD OF WILD PIGS 


the skin of our last sheep, mumbled a prayer, and filled in the little 
grave. It was lonely and desolate on the boat after Dovlet had left us. 

The farther we advanced, the slower the current became. The crew 
did not have much to do. All, except Palta, listened, when Mollah, 
on the after-deck, read aloud of the day when the followers of the 
Prophet conquered East Turkestan for Islam. The green shades of the 
forest-roof faded day by day, and the yellow and red became predomi- 
nant. We passed through what seemed an aisle, with high pillars on 
both sides. By way of diversion, Islam Bai set the music-box going, 
and the stillness was broken by Carmen, the Swedish national anthem, 
and regimental marches of the Swedish cavalry. A wild duck came 


Rey n POR EN Pre a EAR TO Fe AST A 259 


swimming along the shore, and a fox skirted it stealthily. A herd of 
boars rooted in the reeds. The old ones were black, and the young ones 
brown. ‘They stood still, and gazed at us steadily. Then they made 
a complete turn, and ran away noisily through the thicket. 

I worked eleven hours a day, sitting at my observation-table as if 
fixed there. No gap must be permitted on the chart of the river. Dur- 
ing the night before October 12, the temperature fell below the freezing- 
point for the first time; and after that, the last green spots in the forest 
soon vanished. When it was windy, the river was so closely covered 
with wind-driven leaves, that one might have imagined oneself gliding 
over a mosaic floor, done in yellow and red. Where the forest-belt was 
thin, we could sometimes see the nearest dune-crest in the Takla- 
makan Desert. 

Four shepherds were tending their sheep on a point of land. They 
were sitting around their camp-fire, as the boats slipped by without a 
sound. They were struck dumb with terror, and got up and fled, swift 
as an arrow, into the forest. We went ashore, called loudly, and made 
a search for them. But they were gone, and remained so. They had 
probably mistaken the boat for a ghostlike monster that was stealing 
upon them to annihilate them. 

A sarik-buran (yellow storm) raged on October 18 and 19, and 
whole Sargasso Seas of leaves floated on the river. We were compelled 
to moor, and I went afoot, through the forest, to the beginning of the 
sandy desert. At last the wind subsided, and we went on, during the 
night, by the light of the moon and lanterns. A log-fire was built at the 
camp, and four dry poplar-trunks gave us heat. 

The next day, at a certain bend, Mollah declared that a khaneka 
(mosque), called Mazar Khojam, was to be found in the forest, 
at some distance from the shore. All of us, except Kader, went there. 
The small temple was of the most primitive kind, built of boughs and 
planks, driven vertically into the sandy ground, and surrounded by an 
enclosure. Streamers and rags fluttered on some poles. Solemn as a 
high-priest, Mollah read a prayer; and “Allahu akbar, la illaha il 
Allah” rang sonorously through the forest, so silent a moment before. 
When we returned to the barge, Kader, wishing to show an equal devo- 
tion to the Prophet, asked permission to go alone to the sanctuary, 
following our trail. He soon returned, however, as though a whole 
army of infernal spirits were at his heels. He had felt very uneasy in 


260 MY OoLIEFE ®AS* ANGE XePi Oop 


his loneliness, had mistaken every bush for a beast, and had been scared 
by the fluttering of the streamers. 

Kasim drifted ahead of us, with the small boat, in order to sound the 
depth, and to warn us of shoals. He stood in the stern with his pole. 
Presently he pushed the pole so hard into the bottom, that he could not 
get it out again. He fell backwards into the river, while the rest of us 
nearly choked with laughter. 

On October 23, things got lively on board. The river followed the 
caravan-road closely. A horseman appeared on the edge of the wood, 
and disappeared, but returned shortly with a whole troop of mounted 
men. They asked us to stop, and we went ashore. Ona rug, they piled 
up heaps of melons, grapes, apricots, and freshly-baked bread. After- 
wards, I invited the most prominent among them on board, and pro- 
ceeded onwards, the other riders flanking us on the shore. New hordes 
appeared after a while. They were West Turkestan merchants, from 
Avat. But that was not all. Thirty more horsemen came dashing out 
of the forest. This time it was the bek of Avat himself who paid us 
homage. He and the merchants were likewise taken on board. Islam 
Bai served tea to all. The barge glided on. The mounted hordes on 
the shore increased. We landed, encamped, and stayed over one day. 
The whole population of the neighbourhood came to the shore to see 
our strange vessel. Eight falconers, and two horsemen with eagles, 
invited us to go hunting. The booty, one deer and four hares, was 
presented to me. 

When we left this hospitable tract, fragrant bowls of fruit stood on 
my rug, and enough food to last several weeks had been added to our 
store. We had also procured a new dog, Hamra, whom it took some 
days to make fairly tame. | 

Two days later, the surrounding landscape changed completely 
again. We reached the spot where the mightier Aksu came flowing in 
from the north. Here the slow and winding journey on the Yarkand- 
daria ended, and the augmented river, now flowing eastward, was called 
the Tarim. The landscape unfolded magically. We left the last cape 
on the right bank of the Yarkand-daria, and moored on the left bank. 
There we stayed a day, to examine the eddies and the current where the 
two rivers met. 

One day more, and we pushed off. The barge revolved once in the 
eddies, but afterwards it lay steadily on the strong current. The water 


Pay ek hE EIN TERA A RE Or? ASTA | 26% 


was dirty grey. The river was broad and shallow. The turns were not 
abrupt, and for long stretches the river was almost straight. The 
shores flew past. To the south, the dry mouth of the Khotan-daria 
yawned. A few years before, that river had saved my life. 

We encamped on the Tarim for the first time. Lots of wild geese 
flew past in flocks shaped like arrowheads. They were on their way to 
India. One flock settled down quite close to the boat. We did not 
molest them; for we had food enough. Early next morning, they con- 
tinued their journey. Our tame wild goose, puzzled, gazed at them. 
One member of the flock stayed behind. He was probably tired. But 
he soon felt lonely; so he soared again, and followed the invisible trail 
of his comrades through the air. He knew their next halting-place, and 
was sure to overtake them. Our crew from Lailik knew the road less 
than did the wild geese. ‘The ever-growing distance between them and 
Lailik bewildered them; and they did not know how they would find 
their way back. But I promised to help them, when the time came.: 

At this point, the Tarim carried 2,765 cubic feet of water, and the 
speed of the current was between three and four feet a second. During 
the night, the cold increased to 16°. The surface of the ground froze, 
but thawed again in the daytime. Whole blocks of earth and sand 
tumbled continually into the river from the perpendicular-terraced 
shores. Once this happened just as we were floating past. ‘The entire 
starboard side of the barge got a cold shower-bath, and we rocked 
violently. At another point, a lone woman stood, with half a score of 
eggs in a basket. She asked us to buy them, just as our stern swept so 
close, that we could take the basket on board, while moving, and throw a 
silver coin to her. 

The current was strong. Here and there, the water gushed, forming 
eddies, with funnel-shaped centres. Sometimes it looked as if we would 
surely bump against some jutting land, at full speed. All the poles were 
thrust in the water, but they were of no avail. The current helped us, 
however, and cleverly carried the boat away from the dangerous spot. 
For two days we were carried at breakneck speed through a newly- 
formed river-bed, almost straight, and bordered by perpendicular, high- 
terraced shores. Great masses of sand and earth were continually 
descending from these into the river. It looked as though the shores 
were smoking. 

The greatest tension prevailed. Everybody was on the qui vive. 


262 MY LIFE (AS ANSE XP DOR RR 


Kasim, who preceded us, called out in a desperate voice: “Stop!” A 
poplar-trunk was stuck in the middle of the current, causing an entire 
islet of driftwood and brush to accumulate. We were rushing straight 
towards this obstruction. Only a few hundred feet separated us. The 
water roared, foamed, and sizzled around us. Only a miracle could 
prevent us from being upset. When disaster seemed imminent, Alim 
jumped into the ice-cold water, with a rope, and swam ashore. He suc- 
ceeded in checking our speed, so that the boat was got under control, 
and slowly passed the obstruction. 


we 
spatter p 
a yy: mene tl Nit nit Tis > Nar | cf W7 VG i 
| oll tats ue hi a 
le ale \ S “pry et, uy “ a RPS . 


C. 


GOING FULL SPEED WITH THE STRONG CURRENT 


The boat lay tossing and shaking all night at our camping-place. 

We eventually got back to the old bed again, where the shores were 
wooded. We met shepherds, some of whom guarded eight thousand 
and ten thousand sheep. Some greyish-brown vultures clustered on a 
silt-peninsula. They sat there, fat and clumsy, not caring to turn their 
heads more than half-way, and following the boat with their eyes. Here 
and there, on the shore, the natives maintained nets, shaped like a goose- 
foot, or bat-wing. They were sunk in the river, the arms brought to- 
gether, and the whole was then hauled up with, the captured fish. 

We purchased a new rooster at our next camp. MHardly was he on 


Mev eR PLP SNe TOE AR TT OF ASTA 263 


board, when he came to blows with our old rooster, and drove him 
into the river. After that, the two warriors had to be kept apart, each 
on his own boat. Then things went well. When one of them crowed, 
the other answered immediately. We bought a canoe, also, in which 
Islam and Mollah paddled ahead 
of the barge. And lastly we 
bought oil for the torches, which 
we would need later on. A new 
passenger came on_ board, 
namely, a small, brown dog, who 
inherited the name of Dovlet, 
and who instantly assumed com- 
mand of the larger boat. At 
dawn, everything was white with 
hoar-frost. The forest was leaf- 
less and naked, and was awaiting 

FHOepDchatiintcy Enoue ha) en ewes 
sands of wild geese were tray- 

elling daily to warmer latitudes. Some of the flocks were very large. 
The leader flew well ahead of the arrow-point, the two wings of which 
were several hundred yards long. 

The temperature at night was now about 12°. Sheltered inlets 
began to freeze. The boat-poles were ice-coated. We put on winter 
clothes and furs, and in the evenings warmed ourselves at big fires. I 
wondered how far we would get before the river caught us in its ice- 
fetters. We started drifting as early as possible in the morning, and 
kept going till nightfall. 

During the night preceding November 14, all of the boats got stuck 
in the ice on the shore, and had to be dislodged with axes and picks. 
From that time on, we encamped where the current prevented the water 
from freezing. We drifted past a place where four men and four dogs 
were guarding some horses. [he men fled at top speed, as though for 
their lives; but their animals followed us along the shore for hours, the 
dogs barking violently. They were answered by those on the boat, 
and there was a terrific din. The natives here seemed to be more shy 
than farther up the river. Once, everybody ran away from a hut, leav- 
ing the fire burning on the hearth, when we camped on the shore close 
by. We shouted after them for information. But all we could do was | 


264 MY) LIFE *sAS! ANVEX?PLORER 


to catch a boy; and he was so frightened out of his wits, that we could 
not get a word out of him. 

A few days later, we succeeded in getting a pilot from a hut made 
of boughs and reeds. He was a tiger-hunter; and I bought a skin, which 
still decorates my study in Stockholm. 

The forest-people in this region are not distinguished for bravery 


CAUGHT IN AN IRON TRAP 


in their tiger-hunts. Having slain a cow or a horse, the tiger eats his 
fill, and then retires to the deep thickets in the woods. But the next 
night he returns, to continue his meal. In so doing, he always follows 
the beaten paths of shepherds or cattle. Meanwhile, the shepherd and 
his comrades have dug a pit in the path leading to the spot where the 
felled animal lies. In the opening, they have fixed a trap, the heavy, 
sharp frames of which snap around the tiger’s foot, when he steps be- 


peeve MLE BONG Re re sok rn Ole AS TA’ 265 


tween them. He cannot possibly free himself from the trap. Never- 
theless, he retires, dragging the trap after him. Deprived of food, he 
grows thin and miserable, and is doomed to die of starvation. Only 
after a week does the hunter dare go forth. It is easy to follow the 
trail. The hunter approaches the tiger on horseback, and shoots the 
last spark of life out of him. 

While we were with the tiger-killers, we got in touch with the first 
Lop people. They lived in reed huts on the banks, fish being their 
principal food. One of them showed us how they caught the fish. He 
set out a net in the opening of a long, narrow inlet, between the shore 
and a mud-bank that protruded from it. ‘The inlet was frozen. He 
rowed along the outer edge, smashing the ice with his oar as far as he 


FISHING FROM CANOES THROUGH THIN ICE 


could reach. Then he removed the net to the new edge, and so on, 
little by little. The fish retired up the bay. In the end, he broke up the 
ice closest to the shore; and the fish, trying to make for the river, got 
enmeshed in the net. The whole manceuvre was carried out with speed 
and skill. We bought the plentiful catch. 

On November 21, we came to a place where the river entered a new 
bed. The velocity was very great, as usual. The bek, or head of the 
district, came to warn us; but he was brave enough to go along with us 
on the boat. The forest had now been succeeded by bare sand-dunes, 


266 MY LIFE AS AN’ EXPLORER 


towering fifty feet high on the shores. Small groves of poplars were 
scattered about, some of them in the very bed of the river. On several 
of our landings we saw fresh tiger-prints. 

All this time, the Tarim was carrying us deeper and deeper into the 
heart of Asia. 


=> 


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CHINESE TURKESTAN 


GEAR VEE Rexx Xx EV 


Struggling with the Ice 


N November 24, we met with an adventure which might have 
had dire consequences. Contrary to the usual practice, the 
large boat was drifting in the lead, the smaller boats follow- 
ing. The river was narrow and the current very strong. We 

had rounded an abrupt turn, when a mighty poplar appeared not far 
ahead of us. Its roots had been dislodged by the river, and it had fallen. 
It was now lying like a bridge across one-third of the river, where the 
water flowed swiftly. The trunk lay horizontally about four feet above 
the surface of the water. It was easy enough for the small boats to 
pass underneath the trunk and between the branches trailing in the water. 
But the large boat, which was rushing at full speed towards the ob- 
struction, would have had its tent and furniture, as well as the dark- 
room, swept away; or, what is more likely, the resistance offered by the 
dark-room would have made the boat capsize, with the result that my 
luggage and all my data would have been lost beyond recovery. ‘The 
situation was extremely serious. Everyone shouted and gave orders. 
The poles would not reach to the bottom. The water eddied and boiled. 
In another minute we would be shipwrecked. In great haste, I packed 
my maps and all the loose articles that lay about. The Lailik men 
rowed for their lives, with the heavy oars they had improvised. The 
suction of the current kept carrying us in under the poplar. However, 
the men worked hard, and finally managed to get us out into the whirl- 
pool that eddied about the crown of the poplar. Alim jumped into the 
icy water again, swam to the left bank, with a rope, and pulled us 
towards him with such force, that the tent and the cabin were only 
slightly damaged by the outermost branches of the poplar. 

What if this adventure had happened at night! I hardly dared 
think of it. 

Soon afterwards, Islam Bai came forward with some fresh, boiled 
fish, salt, bread, and tea. I had scarcely begun my meal, when piercing 
cries for help were heard from up the river. It proved to be the smaller 
boat, which had capsized over a grounded poplar-trunk, concealed be- 

267 


268 MY LIER E “AS AN Ee Ae Oi 


neath the water. Pails, casks, boxes of flour and fruit, bread, cakes, 
poles, and oars went spinning along the current, and were fished out 
by the Lop men in the canoes. Kasim had managed to hold onto the 
treacherous poplar-trunk; and, straddling it, in ice-water up to his waist, 
he called for help. The sheep had swum ashore, and the rooster sat 
soaking-wet on the overturned boat; but shovels, axes, and other hard- 
ware had gone down. No sooner was I informed that Kasim had been 
rescued, than I busied myself again with the fish, which had grown cold 


ey, 
Z LEGS ‘i 
: SP hie 


THE BARGE RUSHING FULL SPEED TOWARD A FALLEN TREE OBSTRUCTING 
PART OF THE RIVER 


meanwhile. Large fires were made, and the evening was given over 
to drying our things. 

The next day, a bek, with two canoes, joined us. Our fleet now 
numbered ten boats. We drifted down towards a spur of the great 
desert called Tokus-kum (the Nine Sand-Mountains). Dunes, two 
hundred feet high, with no trace of vegetation, towered here on the right 
bank. At their base, they were parted by the river; and the sand slid 
down, little by little, to be washed away by the water and form banks 
and bars further down. 

We stayed there an hour, and mounted the top of the dune, which 
was not an easy job, as the sand gave way at every step. The view over 


STRUGGLING WITH THE ICE 269 


the river and the desert was magnificent. The water and the sand 
contested for supremacy. ‘There was life here. The river was rich 
in fish, and there were forests. But to the south was the desert, the 
land of death, silence, and thirst. 

Our Lop men had said that from the day when the drift-ice began, 
it would be ten days more before the river would be frozen over. And 
on November 28, I awoke to a strangely tinkling and sawing sound from 
alongside the boat. It was the first porous drift-ice, that came dancing 
down the river. 

“Cast off before sunrise! Light the fire on the after-deck, and put 
an iron brazier with glowing 
coals in my tent, so that my 
hands will not get frost-bitten at 
the writing-desk!” 

At one o'clock, the ice was 
gone. But during the night it 
was 3°; and when I got out in 
the morning, the river was filled 
with ice-floes of all sizes. They 
were rounded, like white-edged 
discs, from their contact with 
one another. They made me — 
think of funeral-wreaths, which 4 “gex”, or CHIEF, ARRIVING WITH HIS CANOES 
had been presented to the river 
by invisible powers before Cold and Death stretched their hard shroud 
from shore to shore. The ice-crystals sparkled like diamonds in the 
light of the rising sun. They tinkled and rattled like china being 
smashed. They grated like a buzz-saw cutting through a block of 
sugar. Very soon, solid ice-borders began to form along the shores 
also. These grew wider, day by day. At our camping-places, the 
drifting floes struck the barge with such force that its frame shook. At 
first the dogs barked at the drift-ice and at the noise it produced. But 
they soon got used to it; and as we drifted, they would even run onto 
the floes that accompanied us on either side. But when the barge 
stopped on a sand-bank, it was odd and amusing to observe the ice 
continuing freely on its way. 

Again we glided along the foot of huge dunes. Falcons, pheasants, 
and ravens were the only birds visible; the wild ducks and geese were 


270 MY LERE“ASVAN YE Cheon 


gone. In the evening, Chinese lanterns and oil-torches on the small 
boats illuminated our way, and we proceeded on our journey till the 
night was well advanced. I, too, had a lantern for my writing-table 
to enable me to work at night. The sand ended, and was succeeded by 
dense yellow fields of reed. It was biting-cold, and we had to make 
camp. But the current was strong, and we could not see clearly enough 
to make a landing in the dark. One of the small boats was ordered to 
go ahead and set fire to the reeds. Soon the whole shore seemed to be 
afire. A fantastic, wild, and magnificent picture unfolded before us. 
The yellow-red light changed the river into melting gold; and the small 
boats and their oarsmen, silhouetted in raven-black, stood out against 
the background of dazzling light. The reeds crackled and cracked. 
We moored at a place that had not been touched by the fire. 

On December 3, we passed a point where signal-fires and horsemen 
on the shore induced us to land. They had been sent out by the Cos- 
sacks to tell us that the caravan had encamped a few days’ journey 
farther down. 7 

The next day the velocity of the current was great, and the boat 
drifted gloriously among the floating ice-floes. At times, we brushed 
the bank, and ground against its icy edge. At Karaul, I saw Islam Bai 
on the shore, with a white-bearded man. ‘This was our friend Parpi Bai, 
of 1896 memory. Hewore a dark-blue cloak and a fur cap. We hove 
to, and took him on board. He greeted me with pienso and was 
soon enrolled among my faithful retainers. 

The Tarim still flowed at the rate of about two holga cubic feet 
a second; but the ice-ribbons along the shore grew wider, and the open 
channel in the middle got narrower and narrower. At a shallow point, 
we ran up on a treacherously-concealed poplar-trunk, and would have 
stuck there, had it not been for the heavy drift-ice pushing us on from 
behind. The bow of the boat rose clear out of the water, and then fell 
back with a resounding smack. 

December 7 was the last day of this glorious journey. We knew 
that the caravan had settled down at Yangi-kol, and that the river was 
frozen from shore to shore some distance below that point. Three 
beks and an immense troop of horsemen followed us along the shore, 
but only the bek of Yangi-kol was allowed on board. He sat smiling in 
front of my tent, and looked as if he were having the time of his life. 

The river flowed due southeast. On the left there was a steppe, 


_— 


meer OG. GAOTIN Ga Ta Ee ER oC RB 271 


with sparse poplars and thickets. On the right were enormous sand- 
dunes, with shallow lakes between. The channel was so narrow in some 
places, that the boat broke up the edges of the ice on both sides, causing 
much noise and bluster. 

Chernoff, Nias Haji, and Faizullah joined the rest of the horse- 
men. At dusk, the lanterns and the torches were lit again, and we 
went on. We were determined to reach the camp of the caravan. At 
last a huge fire appeared on, the left shore, and there the caravan was. 
We cast anchor for the last time, and hurried ashore to warm our limbs, 
which were stiff with cold. 

The name of the place was Yangi-kol (the New Lake). It became 
my headquarters for half a year. It hada splendid location. We had 
neighbours in several directions; it was only a three days’ ride to the 
town of Korla; and south and west of us lay the great desert. 

After I had had a thorough rest the next morning, and had inspected 
our camels and horses, we removed the two boats to a small, round, 
sheltered inlet, which froze to the bottom during the winter, making 
our boats rest as though in a bed of granite. After that, we had a 
thousand things to do. A post-courier had arrived from Kashgar, with 
a whole bundle of longed-for letters from home; and so my first occu- 
pation was to write letters, and to send the courier back. We pur- 
chased provisions, candles, blankets, cloth and canvas, etc., in Korla. 
The crew were paid double wages, and I also saw to it that they got 
home safely. Nias Haji, who had been guilty of theft, was dismissed. 
Islam Bai became karavan-bashi (caravan-leader); Turdu Bai and 
Faizullah were entrusted with the care of the camels; Parpi Bai, who, 
besides being falconer, looked after the horses, had sixteen-year-old 
Kurban for a messenger-boy; and Ordek, a Lop man, carried water, 
wood, and fodder, which we had bought from our neighbours. ‘The 
Cossacks supervised it all. Sirkin, who knew how to write and read, 
was taught how to make meteorological observations. 

During the following days, quite a nice farmyard was formed at 
Yangi-kol. A stable was built of poles and bunched reeds for our eight 
horses, and their crib consisted of two canoes. My tent was pitched 
on land, and the stove was installed; but, in addition to that, a reed hut 
was built for me, with two rooms, the floors of which were covered 
with straw and felt mats. All my boxes were taken there. What with 
the tents and huts of the men, the stables, the camel-burdens and wood- 


272 MY LIFE VAS ANE XP DORE ER 


pile, and my house, a veritable court, or square, was formed, with a lone 
poplar towering in its centre. At the foot of the tree, a fire burned 
continually; and around it we spread mats, where our visitors could sit 
and have tea. Sounds of chatter, laughter, and trading were always 
audible from there. Besides Yoldash, Dovlet, and Hamra, all of whom 
had been with us on the boat, and Yolbars, who had accompanied the 
caravan, we were presented by a chieftain from Korla with two uncom- 
monly beautiful and intelligent wolfhounds, called Mashka and ‘[aiga. 
They were tall, quick, and yellowish-white, but so sensitive to the noc- 
turnal cold, that we sewed some felt coats for them. ‘They became my 
favourites at once. ‘They slept in my tent, and were extremely grateful 
when I helped tuck the felt coats tightly around them in the evenings. 
In comparison with the other dogs, they looked very slender-limbed and 
frail. But they assumed the leadership at once, treating everything in 
the shape of dogs, in the whole neighbourhood, as slaves. They were 
terribly ingenious in fighting. They sank their fangs quickly and agilely 
into one of the hind legs of their adversary, and whirled him round, re- 
leasing him again at the moment of greatest velocity, and letting him 
roll along the ground, howling. 

Night-watches walked to and fro among the tents and huts, and kept 
the fire going. It did not go out, in fact, until May of the following 
year. Our village became known to people far and wide; and mer- 
chants and travellers came long distances to see this miracle, and to 
trade with us. ‘The Lop men of the locality dubbed the place Tura- 
sallgan-ui (the Houses Built by the Lord). I fondly supposed that this 
name would remain attached to the spot for long years after we had 
left it. But already in the spring that followed our departure, the 
high water washed away all of that shore, and our abandoned huts 
with it. Only the memory of our transitory town would remain; and 
even that would gradually be effaced by the passage of time. 

I longed for the desert in the southwest, and I had long discussions 
with the elder men of the region. Some of them told me monstrous 
tales about ancient cities and great treasures buried in the sand. How 
well I remembered those tales from Takla-makan! Others knew noth- 
ing of what the desert concealed, only that it was death to enter there. 
They had no other name for the mysterious waste than “The Sand.” 

Before setting out on the perilous adventure of crossing the desert 
with camels, I decided to make a little trial-trip of a few days. The 


~~ 


SoTRUGCGUINGIWUDH: THE TCE 273 


river was frozen over now, but the ice was too thin to bear the camels. 
So we hewed a channel from bank to bank, and the animals were taken 
across in the large boat. The Cossacks, a few natives, Mashka, and 
Taiga went with us. We carried no tents. We examined the hard- 
frozen lakes, Bash-kol and Yangi-kol, and traversed a very large three- 
hundred-foot-high sandy promontory between them. ‘These strange 
tributary lakes were very long (Bash-kol twelve miles) and narrow. 
Both of them extended from northeast to southwest, and were sepa- 
rated from each other by three-hundred-foot-high sand-dunes. They 
were connected with the Tarim by small channels. A sandy threshold, 
frequently quite low, rose at the southwestern end of each lake, and 
beyond that was another depression, like that of the lake, but without 
water. I hoped that, thanks to these depressions, we would be able 
to cross the desert without difficulty. 

The ice-lid of the lakes was | 
crystal-clear, and as shiny as 
window-glass. The water looked 
dark-blue when we_ gazed 
straight down, «in the deep 
places; and we saw large fishes, 
with black backs, lolling among OO ZA-ZZ 
the alge. Sirkinhad made some Zep == 
skates for me out of a couple of g 
knives; and the Lop men were 
amazed to see me cut white fig- 
ures in the dark ice. They had 
never witnessed such a‘thing be- Two oF My MEN ON THE ICE OF ONE OF THE LAKES 
fore. 

After my return to Tura-sallgan-ui, a native horseman came gal- 
loping one day up to the square in our village, and handed me a letter 
from Charles E. Bonin, the well-known French traveller, who was camp- 
ing in a village six miles north of ours. I rode there at once, and 
brought him to Tura-sallgan-ui. We had an unforgettably pleasant 
day and night together. He was dressed in a long red coat and a red 
bashlik, and resembled a lama on pilgrimage. He was an uncommonly 
amiable and scholarly man, the only European I met during the entire 
journey. Except for him, I was the sole European in the innermost 
wilds of Asia. 


CH AUP Ran 


A Hazardous Journey Across the Great Desert 


N December 20, I began a new desert-trip, which, if ill-luck 
had accompanied us, might have turned out as disastrously 
as our terrible journey to the Khotan-daria, far away to the 
west. For the distance between our headquarters, on the 

Tarim, and the Cherchen-daria, to the south, was almost a hundred and 
eighty miles, and the sand-dunes were higher than those in Takla-makan. - 

I took with me only four men, Islam Bai, Turdu Bai, Ordek, and 
Kurban; also seven camels, one horse, and the dogs, Yoldash and 
Dovlet. A small auxiliary caravan, composed of four camels, Parpi 
Bai, and two Lop men, was to accompany us the first four days, and 
was thentoreturn. ‘These four camels carried nothing but large chunks 
of ice, in bags, and fire-wood. Three of my seven camels carried ice 
and wood; the others bore provisions, beds, instruments, kitchen-uten- 
sils, etc. I took no tent along, but slept in the open, throughout the 
winter. Our supply of ice and food was calculated to last twenty days. 
Should thirty days be needed for crossing the desert, we would surely 
be lost; for we could not hope to find a single drop of water in that 
region. 

Again the camels were ferried across the river. They were then 
loaded, on the right or western shore, and led by Turdu Bai along the 
small lake of Tana-bagladi. At its southern end, holes were cut in the 
almost one-foot-thick ice, and out of these the camels drank their fill 
for the last time. 

After this halt, we proceeded across the first low sand-ridge that 
separated the lake from the first dry depression southwest of it. These 
sand-free elliptical spots in the desert were called bayir. There were 
reed-growths still in the northern part of our first bayir, so that the 
camels did not have to go hungry. 

The next day, we passed through four bayirs. Their bottoms con- 
sisted of soft dust, in which the camels sank more than a foot, and which, 
in a wind, whirled in light, grey clouds around the caravan. The lead- 

274 


A HAZARDOUS JOURNEY 27,5 


ers of the caravan had the most difficult lot, and those who came last 
had it the easiest, because the camels in front beat down a depressed, 
hard track inthe dust. Consequently, I brought up the rear of the cara- 
van on my horse; and all day long the clanging of a bronze bell re- 
sounded in my ears. 

The landscape was as dead as the surface of the moon. Not a 
wind-driven leaf, not an animal-trail. Human beings had never before 
been there. The prevailing wind was from the east. We were shel- 
tered on that side by steep, mountain-like dunes, which stretched out 
like a wall of sand, at an angle of 33°; but to the right, on the western 
side of each bayir, the windward slopes of the dunes rose only gradually 
to the next high ridge. The terrain continued like this all through the 
desert. As long as we proceeded over level bayir ground, all went well. 
It was the steep slopes of the dunes that tired the camels. Thus the 
great question was, How far did this series of bayirs extend? From the 
top of each new sand-ridge, at the south end of a bayir, we would anx- 
iously look for the next one. Everything depended on that, success 
or ruin. 

We camped at the south end of the fourth of these hollows. We 
had to conserve our fuel. Not more than two logs were spared for 
the evening fire, and only one inthe morning. It was cold enough inside 
our fur wraps at night, but colder still when we crawled out again in 
the morning. My horse drank the water that I washed in; and I re- 
frained from using soap, so as not to spoil this for him. | 

In the next depression, we found white, fragile, porous fragments 
of wild camels’ skeletons. How many thousands of years had they 
been covered with sand before being exposed by the moving dunes? 

Early in the morning of the day before Christmas, the moon stood 
looking down upon us. The air was almost clear. The sun glowed 
blood-red when it rose, and by its light the barren dunes were coloured 
like a welling lava-stream. Camels and men cast long, dark shadows 
along the ground. Parpi Bai, with his subsidiary caravan, was sent 
back, my seven camels accordingly became more heavily burdened. 

I walked in advance. The ground became more difficult. The sand 
increased, and the bayir depressions became smaller. From one of 
them, I climbed a protrusion which appeared to be endless. At last 
I reached its top; and, deep down among more high dunes, I saw the 
next bayir, the sixteenth one, resembling a black, yawning, infernal hole, 


276 MY sEILPECAS: ANWR A PE ORR 


surrounded by a white ring of salt. I slid down through the loose sand, 
and waited for the caravan at the bottom. The men were downcast. 
They thought that our difficulties would increase further on in the 
desert. We camped. No Christmas angel visited us this Christmas 
Eve. We had sufficient water for fifteen days, and wood for eleven. 
But feeling the need for economizing, we soon rolled into our furs and 
went to sleep. 

We were wakened by a heavy storm on Christmas morning. ‘The 
sand whirled like yellow plumes from all the dune-crests. A universal 
grey prevailed. Nothing wastobeseen. Everything became infiltrated 
with drift-sand. And when, two and a half years later, I took out my 
notebooks, in order to elaborate them, desert-sand fell from between 
the leaves, and my pen rasped on the paper. 

We saw the skeleton of a wild goose. It must have grown weary 
on its journey to or from India, and had descended to die. Mountain- 
high dunes surrounded our day-camp on every side; and the atmosphere 
was charged with depression. It made one want to turn in early. 

The cross-ridges between the bayirs increased in height. Their 
southern slopes fell at an angle of 33° toward the depressions. It was 
a strange sight when the entire caravan slid down the inclines. The 
camels were wonderfully sure-footed. They glided down, together with 
the surface-layer of sand, and remained erect on stiffly-spread-out legs. 

We still had two and a half loads of ice left; but the wood was 
nearly all gone. And when the last stick was burnt, there would be no 
more ice-melting. As usual, in critical times, the pack-saddles were 
sacrificed, and their hay stuffing distributed among the camels. The 
wooden frames were then used for fuel. | 

And we were not yet half-way. But presently, on December 27, 
we received unexpected encouragement. Having at last reached the 
crest of a ridge, after endless climbing, we perceived the thirtieth bayir 
depression, together with a faint straw-yellow colouration. It was 
reeds! That meant vegetation in the middle of the desert! The next 
bayir also showed reeds, and we camped there for the sake of the camels. 
An entire load of ice was now sacrificed to the patient animals, so as. to 
increase their appetite. For did not everything depend onthem? Also, 
the camp-fire was fed with dry reeds, which helped to conserve our fuel. 

There was a glorious sunset. Against an intensely crimson back- 
ground, the clouds stood out, blue-violet fields, with a gold-shimmering 


ARHAZAR DOSS fT OU RINE Y 277 


upper edge, but the lower parts yellow as the desert-sand. The curved 
backs of the dunes, resembling the waves of the sea, formed an almost 
black silhouette against the flaming-red evening sky. And in the east, 
the deadly cold new night, black with twinkling stars, rose over the 
desert. 

The temperature sank to —6°. I went on in advance, to act as 
pilot, and also to keep warm. All the beauty of the previous evening 
was gone. ‘The wilderness, grey and sinister, surrounded us, and there 
was a strong wind. Ina new bayir, I came upon a dead tamarisk, with 
which I built a small fire. One camel had tired, and was being led 
behind the caravan by Kurban. But when darkness came, Kurban 
showed up alone. Islam and Turdu went to carry straw to the tired 
animal in the evening. But they found him dead, with his mouth open; 
and he was still warm. Turdu Bai wept over him, for he loved the: 
camels. 

Again we came upon some tamarisks, and we dug a well on level 
bayir ground. Already at a depth of four and a half feet, it yielded 
water. It was quite fit for drinking; but it came forth slowly. We sank 
the well deeper, and got more water. Each of the camels drank six 
pailfuls. The place was so inviting that we stayed all of the next day. 
In that time, we saw the trails of foxes and hares. We also saw an 
almost black wolf, who stole over the crest of a dune before he dis- 
appeared. ‘The camels drank up to eleven pails each, which made it 
possible for them to go without water for ten days. 

On the last day of the Eighteen-Hundreds, we covered fourteen and 
a half miles, the longest record we had thus far been able to make in 
the heavy desert. The ground was difficult; but depressions free from 
sand helped us considerably. We camped at Bayir Number Thirty- 
eight. ‘The sun set in the midst of clouds; and when it rose again, I 
wrote January I, 1900, in my diary. 

We did not proceed more than eight and a half miles, before the 
desert became sterile again. Snow fell during the night; and when 
we woke in the morning, the dunes were covered as with a thin, white 
sheet. The: wind was from the south, and in the afternoon we had a 
real blizzard. ‘The snowfall hung like white hangings from the dark 
clouds. All danger of our dying of thirst was past. 

At a new tamarisk, the camels again had a day of rest. We had 
to spare them. Their days, indeed, were long. It snowed incessantly, 


278 MY “UIP E(AS* AN CUBA PE OR ER 


and I was'tentless. I lay by the fire, reading; but I had to shake the 
book continually, as the flakes fell on the text. We were quite covered 
with snow by morning. Islam swept my furs and blankets with a broom 
of reeds. The temperature was. down to —22°. When sitting by the 
fire, washing and dressing, we had 86° on the side toward the fire, 
and —22° on our backs. 

Once more camp was pitched, and the last log was sacrificed. We 
were stiff with cold, and dreamt of our autumn fires on the banks of the 
Tarim. The camels were white, in the morning, as though hewn out 
of marble; and their breath caused long icicles to hang below their nos- 
trils. The snow-covered dunes had a strange bluish look in the now 
transparent air. 

On January 6, the extreme northern ranges of ‘Tibet appeared clearly 
and definitely outlined in the south. Our camping-place was wretched. 
All our fire-wood was gone, and no other combustibles were visible. 
The ink froze in my pen; so I had to write in pencil. ‘The men slept 
close to one another, all huddled together, so as to retain as much of 
their body-heat as possible. | 

The next day’s journey was in our favour. It took us to a region 
where lots of dead, withered poplars stood in the sand. We stopped 
there and made a fire big enough to roast an elephant. The hollow 
trunks writhed, crackled, and split. When evening came, the men dug 
holes in the ground, filling them first with glowing coals, then with sand. 
Afterwards, we slept on a slab as warm as those in the Chinese inns. 

On the morning of January 8, I promised my men that our next 
camp-fire would burn on the Cherchen-daria. They doubted my words, 
for the dry forest had come to an end. But we had not advanced far 
in the barren desert, before a dark line appeared above the white dunes 
to the south. The men wanted to stop at the first forest, but I kept 
on. And before the shades of night began to fall, we arrived at the 
bank of the river. The river was three hundred feet wide at this point, 
and its frozen surface was covered with snow. That night we enjoyed 
a sparkling moonlight. 

The perilous journey across the desert had been successfully accom- 
plished in twenty days, and we had lost only one camel. 

A few days more of marching, and we camped in Cherchen, a small 
town of five hundred families, where I slept under the roof of seventy- 


AVAL AR DOU SS? JOURNEY 279 


two-year-old Toktamet Bek, my old friend from eae who was now 
the head of the place. 

Having rested a few days, I started off on a small trip to the west. 
I had not seen that part of the country adjoining the desert, but Pievtsoff 
and Roborovski had been there; and this was almost the only place on 
this journey which I was not the first to visit. It was a matter of two 
hundred and ten miles, going and coming. I took with me only Ordek, 
Kurban, and one Mollah Shah, who had formerly been in Littledale’s 
employ. We had seven horses and Yoldash, food and warm clothes, 
but no tent. 

We set out on January 16, in crisp, cold weather. Sometimes the 
horses’ hoofs would be clattering on bare ground; at other times the 
snow would crunch under them. ‘The road frequently wound like a cor- 
ridor between entangled tamarisks that looked like huddled-up hedge- 
hogs. ‘Time and again we had to stop for half an hour, to make a fire 
and warm ourselves. 

Our way took us across the dry river-bed of Kara-muran, and 
across the Molja, which was strong, higher up, at the foot of the moun- 
tain. We met a wanderer, with a dog that had been badly mutilated 
by wolves. On January 22, we woke up quite covered with snow, and 
then had a difficult ride in snow about a foot deep. Ordek had stretched 
a blanket above my head for protection; but it was weighed down by 
the snow during the night, and I woke with the sensation of a cold body 
lying on top of my face. 

We came upon some ancient ruins, and made measurements. Among 
the ruins was a tower, thirty-five feet tall. In the vicinity of Andere, we 
turned, and went back to Cherchen, where we had to endure a tempera- 
ture of —26°. 

The long way back to our headquarters took us, in the first place, 
along the Cherchen-daria, now over the frozen river, now in abandoned 
beds at its sides. Wolves howled outside our camp at night, and we 
had to keep good watch over the horses. Our little band had been 
strengthened by the addition of Mollah Shah, who remained in my 
employ throughout the journey. We frequently came upon the trails 
of tigers. 

Upon one occasion, a shepherd showed us a weird burying-ground, 
which was neither Mohammedan nor Buddhist. We dug out two old 
coffins of plain poplar-boards. In one was an elderly man, with white 


280 MY “DDE E (ASs ANGER A Rio 


hair, parchment-like face, and a garment nearly fallen to pieces. In 
the other was a woman, whose hair was fastened at the back with a red 
ribbon. Her dress consisted of a blouse and skirt, in one piece, and 
the sleeves were tight. She had a bandanna around her head, and wore 
red stockings. The shepherd told us that there were many such graves 
in the forest. ‘These were probably the remains of the Russian Raskol- 
niki, who fled from Siberia in the Eighteen-[wenties. 

At the riverside, there were poplars that measured twenty-two and 
a half feet in circumference, and twenty feet in height. Their branches 
were twisted in all directions, like the arms of a cuttlefish. 

After leaving the Cherchen-daria, we entered the former bed of the 
Tarim, called Ettek-tarim, with wooded banks, and with dunes two hun- 
dred feet high toward the west. After that, we found better-travelled 
roads along the present course of the Tarim. 

In a forest-region north of the village of Dural, we met, by chance, 
Abd-ur Rahim, a camel-hunter from Singer, in the north. He and. his 
’ brother, Malek Ahun, had taken their sister and her trousseau to a bek 
in Dural, and he was now on his way home to the Kuruk-tagh (the Dry 
Mountains), which are the very extreme outpost of the Tian-shan 
toward the Gobi Desert. He was one of the two or three hunters of 
the whole country who knew the spring of Altmish-bulak (the Sixty 
Springs); and a few years earlier he had accompanied Kozloff, the 
Russian traveller, thither. My next project was to cross the Lop 
Desert, with a view to solving the problem of the moving Lop-nor; 
and for such a crossing there was no safer starting-point than the Alt- 
mish-bulak. Abd-ur Rahim and his brother had no objection to accom- 
panying me; and we agreed that I should also hire his camels for the 
expedition. 

On February 24, we entered our own village, Tura-sallgan-ui. 
Already a few miles outside the village, we were met by Sirkin and the 
two newly-arrived Cossacks, Shagdur and Cherdon, dressed in dark-blue 
uniforms, sabres in a hanger over their shoulders, high, black, lambskin 
caps, and shiny boots. ‘They saluted, in military fashion, from up on 
their splendid Siberian horses. While saluting, they made a report of 
their journey. ‘They had been four and a half months on their way 
from Chita, in Transbaikalia, and had come by way of Urumchi, Kara- 
shahr, and Korla. ‘They were both twenty-four years old, Lamaists, 
and served in the Transbaikalian Cossack army. I bade them welcome, 


AVHAZARDOUS? TOURNEY 281 


and hoped that they would like being in my employ. I may anticipate 
by saying that their behaviour was beyond all praise, and that they, like 
the two Orthodox Cossacks, were two of the best men I ever had. 

When we rode into our own village, a little later, I was surprised to 
see what looked like a live tiger standing in the middle of the square. 
But it was not as dangerous as all that. ‘This tiger had been shot a few 
days before, and had then frozen as hard as stone in this position. His 
skin was added to my collection. 

Our village had grown during my absence. Several new tents had 
been built. A merchant from Russian Turkestan had caused a shop 
of his own to be built, where he sold woven goods, clothes, cloaks, caps, 
boots, etc.; and the Mohammedans and the Cossacks had a sort of club 
under his roof, where they liked to foregather, for tea anda chat. Other 
merchants came from Kucha and Korla, with tea, sugar, teapots, china, 
and all manner of things useful to caravans. Smiths, carpenters, and 
tailors had opened their shops in Tura-sallgan-ui, which had developed 
into a trading-place known all over the country. The main road, even, 
was diverted from its course, and made a curve to our village. 

Our menagerie had been increased by two new-born puppies, speckled 
black and white, and with shaggy furs. They were christened Malenki 
and Malchik, and they outlived all the other dogs in my caravan. 

The horses and camels were now rested, and had become plump, 
strong, and healthy. ‘The camels, being in their rutting-season, were 
half-wild, and had to be kept tethered, so as not to kick and bite. The 
dromedary in particular was dangerous. He had to wear a muzzle, 
and had all four of his feet fastened with chains to iron stakes. ‘There 
was white foam round his mouth, as though he were ready for the barber. 

During our absence, one of our camels had caused great excitement. 
Once, when he and his fellows were being driven in from pasture for 
the night, he broke away from the others, and ran away. Two guards 
and one of the Cossacks mounted their horses and pursued him. ‘The 
trail was distinct. He had run across the frozen river into the desert 
east of the Tarim, and up towards the Kuruk-tagh. Our men stirred 
up some people, and organized a search. ‘The fleeing camel had de- 
scended the desert-mountains again, and hurried like the wind, through 
the wastes, in the direction of Kucha. He had returned from there 
also, and had finally entered the Yuldus Valley. ‘There the pursuers 
lost his trail. Nobody knew what eventually became of him. He was 


282 MY “LTPPE AS AN” BX PE Om ER 


and remained a mystery, a veritable Flying Dutchman. A wise old 
man in our neighbourhood told me that the tame camel sometimes goes 
quite crazy, and becomes as shy as his wild brethren. At such times, 
he will run towards the desert, when he sees a man, and will keep on 
running day and night, as if haunted by evil spirits. He runs and runs, 
till his heart gives out, and he collapses from exhaustion. Another 
man thought that the camel had seen a tiger in the forest, and had gone 
crazy because of that. 

Our tame wild goose was much better; for he patrolled the tents 
like a policeman, self-conscious and self-important. His wild kin re- 
turned soon, in big numbers, from their four months’ stay in India. 
Day and night we heard them shriek in the air, and carry on a lively 
conversation, before settling in their old, ancestral breeding-places. One 
could not help believing that the laws and customs concerning the 
boundaries of grazing-grounds that prevailed among these winged com- 
munities held as firmly as those with regard to the fishing-grounds among 
the various families of the Lopliks. 


CHAPTER XXX VI 


We Discover an Ancient City in the Lop Desert 


N March 5, we were again ready to leave our headquarters. 

This time I took with me the Cossack, Chernoff: Faizullah, 

the camel-driver; Ordek and Khodai Kullu, the two Lop men; 

and the two brothers and huntsmen, Abd-ur Rahim and Malek 

Ahun, mounted on two of their camels, six others of which I also hired. 

Besides these, there were six of our own camels, Musa, and a Lop man, 

with some of our horses. ‘The horses were to be sent back when the 

desert should prove too heavy for them. Two of the dogs were with 

us, Yoldash, from Osh, and Mashka, the wolfhound. We carried 
provisions, two tents, and seven goatskins to hold the ice. 

The rest of the caravan was to remain at headquarters. Parpi Bai, 
well built and erect, stood among the Cossacks and Mohammedans. It 
was the last time I saw him. He died twelve days after I left our vil- 
lage, and was laid away in the burial-ground of Yangi-kol, at the foot 
of the desolate dunes, and on the bank of the large river. 

Spring had returned. By day, the temperature rose to 55°, and 
at night it did not fall below 32°. We crossed the thick ice of the 
Konche-daria; and on the other side of the river, we found a row of 
cairns and towers, indicating the ancient road that once connected China 
with the Occident. 

From the bleak, level steppe, we directed our course to the foot of 
the Kuruk-tagh. These withered, barren mountains, in brown, violet, 
yellow-grey, and red shades, extended eastward, and disappeared finally 
in the distant desert-haze. At long intervals, springs were encountered. 
One of these was in the gorge of Kurbanchik, which was a hundred and 
thirty feet deep. Another was named Bujentu-bulak. When I arose 
in the morning, Chernoff would light my little stove. But this morn- 
ing, at Bujentu-bulak, the wind blew the canvas against the stovepipe, and 
in a moment the tent was ablaze. I just managed to save my precious 
papers. This mishap caused the tent to shrink considerably; but we 
pieced it together as well as we could. 

283 


284 MY, LUPRE OAS ANGE Ave Or ss 


We took leave of the Konche-daria and its forests. During the 
next few days’ march, the dark belt of vegetation on the southern horizon 
was still visible, but soon it gave way to the yellow-grey desert. 

One of the objects of this expedition was to map out the ancient bed, 
dried out more than fifteen hundred years ago, in which the Konche- 
daria used to flow. It had been discovered by Kozloff, but he had had 
no opportunity to do more than mention its existence at a certain point. 
At Ying-pen, an old station on the former Chinese road, we came upon 
two bends of the dry bed. There we measured and photographed the 
still-remaining ruins. One tower was twenty-six feet high, and its cir- 
cumference one hundred and two feet. ‘There was an enormous en- 


bar > 
SEZ 


“— 
¥ 


GUAR \\ ih 
Tt , fy ball 


CAMPING NEAR THE BANK OF THE KONCHE-DARIA ° 


circling wall, with four gates, and many dilapidated houses and walls. 
From a terrace that had once been a burial-ground, skulls peeped out 
as from loop-holes. 

On March 12, it was 70°; and as Musa was now to return with all 
the horses, except my Desert Grey, we also sent most of our winter 
clothes along. But we soon regretted it. 

At Ying-pen, we still found live poplars; but not much farther east, 
the forest thinned out, and the remaining trunks stood like tombstones 
in a cemetery. 


Wie DISCOVER ANC AN CLE INYD SORT YY (285 


We advanced along the shore of the Dead River. The clay-desert 
extended all around us, without a trace of vegetation, and strangely 
sculptured by the driving-force of the winds. ‘The sky was clear, the 
heat oppressive. 

On the eastern horizon, a brown-black line appeared, which broad- 
ened rapidly, and seemed to shoot out arms and branches toward the 
zenith. 

‘“Kara-buran! The black desert-storm! Halt!” 

There was bustle and excitement. Our position was untenable. We 
looked for a more suitable camping-place. The first gusts of wind 
swept howling along the ground. ‘The country appeared to be more 
level toward the southwest. I moved over a little in that direction. 
New gusts of wind stirred up whole clouds of sand and dust. I turned 
quickly, so as not to lose sight of the others. But at that moment the 
storm came like a shot, and swept the dry, warm desert with its un- 
leashed fury. I was near to choking and suffocating, and at a loss 
which way to turn. But I had had the wind on my back a short time 
before; so I thought I would quickly return against the wind. The 
whirling sand scratched my face. Sheltering my face with my arm, I 
tried to see through the haze, which had changed daylight into twi- 
light and darkness. But I could see nothing. I heard no calls. All 
other sounds, even those of possible rifle-shots, were drowned by the 
howling wind. I gathered up all my strength for a battle with the 
wind; but I had to stop continually and turn to leeward for air. I 
struggled for half an hour, and then believed I had walked past the 
caravan. Every trail had been obliterated. 

“If I do not find them soon,” thought I, ‘‘and the storm continues, 
I shall be hopelessly lost.” 

I was just about to stop where I was, when Chernoff grabbed hold 
of me, by chance, and piloted me back to the caravan. 

My tent-poles were snapped in two, and only the half-poles could 
now be used. With great difficulty my men had managed to pitch the 
tent in the shelter of a clay-hillock. It was guyed with ropes, and heavy 
boxes were piled on its edges. The camels, freed of their loads, lay 
stretched out in the direction of the wind, their necks and heads flat on 
the ground. ‘The men wrapped themselves up in their cloaks, and hud- 
dled under their tent-cloth, which could not be pitched. The velocity 
of the wind along the ground was eighty-six feet a second, and certainly 


286 MY LIFE AS AN EXPLORER 


twice as great a dozen feet above. The drift-sand beat against the 
tent-cloth, and the particles filtered through, and covered everything 
within. My bed, which was always laid right on the ground, could no 
longer be seen; and the boxes were coated with yellow-grey dust. Every- 
thing was full of sand; and it tickled and scratched our bodies. A fire 
being out of question, it was impossible to prepare a meal. We had to 
content ourselves with pieces of bread. ‘The storm lasted all day, all 
night, and part of the next day; and when at last it had shot past, 
hurrying westward, and calm was again restored, we felt queerly dazed, 
as after a long illness. 

We wandered on eastwards. ‘The grey, porous trunks on the banks 
of the dead river looked like tree-mummies. It was surprising that they 
had not long ago been worn away by the drift-sand. 

On March 15, we left the river-bed, to go to the spring of Yardang- 
bulak. ‘Tracks of wild camels had now become frequent. ‘This was 
the third region in the extreme interior of Asia in which I had encoun- 
tered this royal animal, the master of the desert, who lives almost in- 
violate in the least-accessible parts of the earth. Chernoff shot a young 
female, whose meat was welcome; for what little we still had was bad, 
and Kirgui Pavan, the old Lop hunter, who was to have met us at 
Yardang-bulak with a number of sheep, had probably lost his way in 
the storm. 

The wild camel became the general topic of conversation. Abd-ur 
Rahim had hunted it for six years, and had killed thirteen camels in 
that period, from which one may surmise that they are not easily caught. 
But our guide knew their habits as well as he did those of the tame ones. 
The wild camel requires water every eighth day in the summer, but 
only every fourteenth day in the winter; and he finds his way to the 
springs as surely as if he were crossing the sand-ocean with the aid of 
a nautical chart. He can scent a man at a distance of twelve miles, 
and then he flees like the wind. He shuns the smoke of camp-fires, and 
stays away, for a long time, from places where tents have been pitched. 
He flees from tame camels, but not from their young; for these have 
not yet been used by man, and their humps are not disfigured by burdens 
and pack-saddles. He drinks only at springs, but does not tarry; and 
he stays only three days, at the most, in places where reeds grow. In 
the rutting-season, the males fight like mad. The victor takes all the 
females—sometimes as many as eight—and the defeated rival is left 


WE DISCOVER AN ANCIENT CITY _ 297 


to mourn alone. All the males have terrible scars, as a result of their 
love-battles. i 

Leaving the spring again, we had all the seven ice-filled goatskins 
and two large bundles of reeds loaded on one camel. We headed south- 
east, back to the Kuruk-daria, the dry river-bed. Abd-ur Rahim rode 
inthe van. All at once, he slid down from his camel, lithely and easily, 
and signalled for us to stop. Chernoff and I followed him, as he stole, 
panther-like, to a vantage-point behind a small clay-ridge. A few hun- 
dred paces away lay a dark he-camel, chewing his cud, and not far from 
him lay three females, while two other females were grazing. The male 
stretched his neck in our direction, dilated his nostrils, and stopped 
chewing. He rose suddenly and looked around. He had scented us. 
I could see all the animals plainly through a field-glass. A shot was 
fired. ‘The three reclining females rose like steel springs, and the whole 
herd galloped away at a pace that made the light-coloured dust whirl 
about them. Within a minute the herd had shrunk into a little black 
spot; then we saw nothing more than the pale dust-cloud, on its way to 
the interior of the desert. Abd-ur Rahim averred that the animals 
would not stop for three days. 

Aiter a while, we surprised a lone camel, evidently a male, who was 
probably played out. At the first shot, he jumped, and disappeared as 
if by magic. | 

The Kuruk-daria, the dry river, was now nearly three hundred feet 
wide, and twenty feet deep. On its shores we found millions of shells, 
fragments of clay vessels, axes of slate, and here and there withered 
poplar-trunks, still standing erect. Once we came upon a large glazed 
and decorated clay vessel, and blue fragments, with small, round ears. 
Human beings must have lived on this river, when water passed between 
its banks, in bygone days. 

Our supply of water was now exhausted. But it was not far to 
Altmish-bulak. After a long march back to the foot of the mountain, 
yellow reed-fields and dark thickets of tamarisk appeared through the 
haze. While the caravan settled down near the enormous, white ice- 
floes on the water, Abd-ur Rahim, armed with a rifle, stole to the eastern 
edge of the oasis, where he had sighted a herd as large as the previous 
one, consisting of a dark male and five young ones. I never tired of 
observing the life and characteristics of these glorious animals of the 
desert, and so I went with him. But my sympathies were always with 


288 MY LIFECAS AN EVP ok 


the camels, and I prayed silently that the bullets would miss them. 
When we needed meat, hunting was not forbidden; and, of course, 
Abd-ur Rahim, a camel-hunter by profession, was his own master. The 
wind blew in our direction from the grazing herd, and they did not sus- 
pect an ambush. But the distance was too great, and Abd-ur Rahim 
had to approach by a roundabout way to get within range unobserved. 
Meanwhile, I sat with field-glass at my eyes, and made mental notes of 
the shape and movements of these noble animals. They grazed quietly, 
raised their heads now and then, scanned the horizon, and chewed 
slowly, and with such pressure that we could hear the crackle of the 
reed-stalks as they were ground between the teeth. 

When the shot was fired, the herd headed straight for me, quick 
as lightning; but they soon turned abruptly against the wind. One of 
the young ones, a four-year-old male, could go no further. He fell; 
but he was still chewing when we reached him. Then he tried to get 
up, but dropped on his side, and was slaughtered. <A bullet from some 
earlier huntsman was found lodged in his front hump. 

Now we had meat again for a while. The animals were to have 
a rest, before we next crossed the desert; and it was a joy to see their 
satisfaction over the pasture, as also, in the evenings, when they stood 
and crunched ice. ‘The spring-water was salt; but the ice was sweet. 
‘Toward evening, a herd of eight 
wild camels came forth to drink; 
but fortunately they took alarm 
in time, and disappeared like 
shadows in the night. 

We set out for the south on 
March 27, with all the goatskins 
filled with ice, and four of Abd- 
ur Rahim’s camels laden with 
reed. He himself did not dare 
to accompany us further than 
two days’ march; then he re- 
turned to his home. After a 


CAMEL BEING LED IN THE DEEP, WIND-CARVED e . 
FURROWS walk of eighteen miles, we were 


down in the yellow clay-desert, 
ribbed into deep furrows and gullies, six to nine feet deep, by the un- 
ceasing northeast and east winds. All the time that we were walking 


Wek. OO PSCOV EK AN NICD RN ST (CET Y.: 289 


in such depressions, clay-ridges obstructed our view on either side. 
Higher clay-ridges were also encountered. 

No trace of life in any form was to be seen here. But the next day 
again disclosed dead forests and grey, porous, sand-eaten tree-trunks. 
In some furrows, the wind had collected shells, which crackled under 
our feet like dry autumn-leaves. 

Chernoff and Ordek went ahead, in search of the most feasible 
route for the camels in this extraordinary land of furrows running south- 
west and south-southwest. At three o’clock in the afternoon, they 
stopped suddenly. I wondered whether they had once more sighted wild 
camels; but this time it was something quite different, and much more 
noteworthy. They were standing on a small clay-hill, on the top of 
which they had found the remains of a few wooden houses. 

I ordered a halt; and while the caravan relaxed, I measured the 
three houses. How long had the sills maintained their present posi- 
tion? That I did not know. But the houses were standing on hillocks 
eight or nine feet high. It was evident that they had formerly been 
on level ground. ‘The wind had eaten away the surrounding earth, 
while the houses protected the soil on which they stood. 

A hasty examination revealed several Chinese coins, a few iron axes, 
and some wooden carvings, representing a man holding a trident, an- 
other man with a wreath, and two with lotus flowers. We had only 
one spade, but it was kept going all the time. 

In the southeast, a clay tower rose at a considerable distance; and 
I went there with Chernoff and Abd-ur Rahim. From its top we dis- 
cerned three other towers. We were not yet able to determine whether 
they had been built for defense, or for signal-fires in time of war, or 
whether they had a religious significance, like the Indian siupas. 

It was pitch-dark before we reached camp; but Faizullah had made 
a beacon-fire. 

I left this interesting place with regret on the following day. We 
could stay no longer; for the warm season was approaching, and our 
goatskins kept dripping alarmingly during the day’s march. 

Abd-ur Rahim was dismissed, after being generously remunerated. 
My servant, Khodai Kullu, was sent home to headquarters, with two 
camels and all the wood-carvings. and other objects which we had found. 

I continued south, through the clay-desert, with Chernoff, Faizullah, 
Ordek, four camels, one horse, and the two dogs. After a twelve-mile 


290 MY LTE GAS ANC Ee TO Ria 


walk, we came to a depression, with a few live tamarisks. There must 
be subterranean water near by! We must dig a well! But where was 
the spade? Ordek promptly confessed that he had forgotten it at the 
ruins, and offered to go back at once and fetch it. I was sorry for him; 
but the shovel might mean life or death to us. [he undertaking was not 
without risk, especially if a storm should arise. 

“Tf you should not find our trail, just go on towards the south or 
southwest. Then you will be certain to get to the lake of Kara-koshun.” 

He had a few hours’ rest. When he departed, at midnight, I loaned 
him my riding-horse. Both of them first took their fill of water. 

Two hours after Ordek had disappeared in the dark, a heavy storm 
broke from the east. I hoped that he would return to us at once. But 
not hearing from him by daybreak, we set out towards the southwest. 
The heat was less oppressive than usual, thanks to the violent wind. 

After crossing a belt of low dunes, we found a few pieces of wood 
in a sterile tract, where we encamped. ‘To everyone’s surprise, Ordek 
turned up there safely, not only with the horse, but with the spade as 
well. And this was his tale: 

He had missed our trail in the storm, had lost his way, and happened 
upon a clay tower, near which he discovered the ruins of a number of 
houses, where beautifully-carved wooden boards were half-buried in 
the sand. Some coins, which he had found, as well as two of the carvings, 
he took with him. He also found our camp and the spade, after much 
searching. Then he tried to put the boards on the horse. But the 
animal shied, and threw off the burden. Then Ordek himself carried 
them to the place where we had left the shovel. He was not able to 
carry the heavy boards any further. The horse broke away, when fresh 
attempts were made to burden him with them, and was only caught with 
much difficulty. ‘Thereupon Ordek left his plunder, and rode on till 
he reached our new camp. 

So there were more ruins than I had seen! I first sent Ordek back 
to fetch the boards, a task which he finished before we were ready to 
depart. I grew dizzy, on seeing these artistically-carved scrolls and 
leaves; and having learned from Ordek that there were more of them, 
though he had been able to bring only two samples, I wanted to go 
back. But what folly! We had water for only two days. All my 
travelling-plans were upset. I must return to the desert next winter! 
Ordek took it upon himself to guide me to the place where he had 


Wie DDS GOVE Re AN: oA NCEE ND CET Y 2901 


discovered the carved boards. How fortunate that he had forgotten 
the spade! Otherwise I should never have got back to the ancient city, 
to complete this most important discovery, which was destined to spread 
a new and unexpected light upon the ancient history of the very heart 
of Asia. 

But just now we had to think of saving ourselves and our animals. 
We hurried south, now across clay-soil, now over twenty-foot-high 
dunes. I walked barefoot. The sun, of course, made the ground hot; 
but the sand was cool in the track of the camels. When camping in the 
evening, the camels got a pail of water apiece, and the last bag of straw. 
They had had nothing to drink for five days. We had water now for 
only one day more; and that was foul-tasting after its contact with 
the goatskins. 

The next day I walked on ahead. It was supposed to be thirty- 
eight miles to the Kara-koshun. I ascended a dune and scanned the 
distance through field-glasses. Nothing but low dunes. But what was 
that shining in the southeast? Water, or a mirage over a salt-field? 

I hastened thither. It was pure, clear water, which had a rank 
taste, but was good enough to drink. It was a joy to see the camels 
drink! But now we had also to find pasturage for them. And we 
must find something eatable for ourselves. All that we had left was 
a bag of rice and a little tea. 

We proceeded along the shore; and on April 2, we reached the 
Kara-koshun (Lop-nor), in which stretches of reedy growth could be 
seen toward the south, extending from east to southwest. Here the 
water was altogether sweet. Wild ducks, wild geese, and swans swam 
there; but were too far from shore to be killed. 

The following day was devoted to rest and grazing. A fresh north- 
easter was blowing; and I had an irresistible desire to get out on the 
lake and to cleanse myself of all the desert-dust. But what about a 
boat? Well, we would build a boat. It is the will that counts! Where 
there’s a will there’s a way. I walked far to the northeast with Chernoff 
and Ordek. There were no trees, nor was there any driftwood. But 
we took along the goatskins and the wooden ladders that had been 
fastened to the pack-saddles. 

We halted at a long spit of land. Ordek inflated the skins till they 
were taut as drumheads. We made a ‘frame by lashing the ladders 
together with ropes, and fastened the skins underneath. The northeast 


Ba AN MOY LITRE WAS) AWN (ee tora 


wind blew steadily. We could drift over a wide expanse to the camp, 
and so I ought to be able to take a series of soundings. The sun was 
hot. It would be nice to get out where it was cool. When Chernoff 
“Went aboard,” the float nearly upset. We sat on the edge, with our 
feet dangling in the water. 

The wind caught us in the back and started us from shore. Foam- 
crested waves rolled by, every one of which soaked us up to the waist, 
while the spray rose as high as our caps. I found no greater depth than 
twelve feet. Wild geese and swans rose with noisy flapping; and wild 
ducks flew so close to the surface, that the tips of their wings touched 
the waves. The trip took two and a half hours. The tent loomed 
large. We were blue with cold, and anxious to land. And when, at 
last, Ordek met us at the camp, we were stiff to the bone, and could 
hardly walk up to the fire. I was half-dead, and fell into a violent 
trembling. Only after I had had several cups of hot tea, and had gone 
to bed, did my body-heat return. 

Sky, earth, and lake were suffused with wonderful tints at sunset. 
The sun spread a scarlet light over the dunes; but the dust-clouds, that 
were now racing southwest, glowed underneath with a dark flame-colour. 
It was a splendid, almost awe-inspiring sight. The lake was blue-black, 
and the whitecaps were empurpled by the reflection of the sun. But the 
waves thundered so violently against the shore, that we had to move 
my tent farther inland, 


CHA PiTE Rx XOX VET 


Our Final Weeks on the Branching Tarim 


a trace of human beings. We were short of everything, and 

were downright hungry. A cloud of smoke appeared to the 

south, on the evening of the second day. Ordek, quick as a 
lizard on land and as a fish in the water, walked and swam across the 
reed-grown lakes, and returned with eight fishermen, three wild geese, 
two-score goose-eggs, fish, flour, rice, and bread. And then all danger 
of starvation was past. 

At Kum-chapgan, we came across old friends. Kunchekkan Bek was 
dead; but his son, Tokta Ahun, became one of our trusted men. Numet 
Bek was entrusted with our four camels and the horse, and was to take 
them to the pasture-grounds at Miran, where one of our caravans would 
soon call for them, on its way to Tibet. 

I returned by canoe to headquarters, with Chernoff, Faizullah, and 
Ordek. But before that, I made a quick canoe-trip out on the Kara- 
koshun. The lakes—or marshes, rather—were more overgrown by 
reeds than upon my visit four years before. The greatest depth was 
hardly seventeen feet. We skimmed over a large, open expanse, where 
we took part in a dramatic episode, which I shall never forget. A dead 
swan lay on the water near the edge of the reeds, and her mate swam 
near by. My oarsmen put their blades in the water, and the canoe shot 
swift as an arrow towards the swan. He did not rise, but swam with 
increasing speed, aided by his wings. He reached the border of the 
reeds, and broke through the dry stalks. But once there, he could no 
longer spread his wings. One of the Lop men jumped into the water 
and swam after him. The swan dived; but, because of the reeds, rose 
again at the same spot. The man caught him with one fell swoop, and 
wrung his neck. The whole thing was over in a minute. The swan had 
not been able to bring himself to abandon his dead mate; and it was 


only the knowledge that his sorrow was ended, that consoled me for 
his death. 


“OR two days more, we skirted the desolate shore, without seeing 


293 


294 Moy, SET FB 205 AN aE oe Bi wo ay 


A new branch, the Shirge-chapgan, had formed north of the lower 
Tarim. I wanted definitely to chart that arm of the river, and record 
its dimensions. But there were no boats there. Our four camels had 
not yet departed; so they were harnessed in pairs to the two canoes, 
and dragged our boats overland to the new channel. 

On we went, northwards, along new water-routes and lakes. One 
day, at the Tarim, we met Cherdon, who took our thirty-five horses, six 
mules, five dogs, men, and provisions up towards the mountains in 
northern Tibet, where our various divisions were to meet in the valley 
of Mandarlik. 

Everything at headquarters was shipshape. The barge lay ready. 
My tent on the forward deck was converted into a cabin, made of ribs 
and blankets. We had a thousand things to do. Our headquarters 
had become a veritable new capital in the Lop country. ‘The natives 
brought their disputes to us as to a court, and we administered justice. 

Our remaining camels were now to start for the rendezvous in 
northern Tibet. Chernoff, Islam Bai, Turdu Bai, and Khodai Kullu 
rode horses. Yolbars, whose side had been badly torn by a boar, was 
one of the dogs to accompany them. In spite of his wound, he was 
the only dog who survived the journey through the desert, up to the 
foot of the mountains. 

The departure of that caravan made a colourful and beautiful scene. 
With bronze bells clanging, it passed out through the sparse forest. 
Tura-sallgan-ui lay empty and desolate after that. All the merchants 
and craftsmen had packed their goods and departed. Only some crows 
croaked in the square; and smoke still issued from the last fire in the 
kitchen-hut. By 

Sirkin and Shagdur, the Cossacks, alone of my faithful men, were 
still with me. Accompanied by them and four new Lop men, I left 
these headquarters forever, on May 19. The entire population of the 
district gathered on shore to bid us a kind farewell, as the barge was 
carried off by the current to continue its journey down the Tarim, which 
had been interrupted for half a year. 

We stopped time and again to survey the lakes on the right bank 
of the river. I measured a dune between two such lakes, and found it 
to rise 293 feet above the river-level. Other dunes near by were as 
much as forty and fifty feet higher. The Lop people occasionally dam 
up the channels that link the river with the lakes. This closes the fish 


ON “DHE BRAN CIVENG? (A REM 295 


in; and the water, becoming slightly salt, renders the fish more palatable. 
They are caught in a seine, sixty fathoms long, which is hauled along 
by two canoes. 

Kirgui Pavan, our old friend the hunter, came aboard after a few 
days. He summoned men, and a whole fleet of canoes, to help us across 
new lake-formations and reed-growths so thick that we had to burn 
them before we could proceed. 

On May 25, we made an adventurous trip on the large lake of 
Beglik-kol, one of those situated on the right bank of the Tarim. We 
had two canoes, one carrying Shagdur and two boatmen, and the other 
one me, Kirgui Pavan, and another oarsman. It was a perfectly quiet 
day; the lake lay like a mirror; and the reflections of the dunes in the 
water were as sharply outlined as their originals. For three hours we 
rowed south, making soundings. ‘The sun was burning-hot, and we 
had to sprinkle water on our clothes, in order to keep cool. 

In the evening, we reached the middle of the west shore, and rested 
for a while. Then Kirgui Pavan pointed to the dune-ridge on the east 
lake-shore, and uttered those most depressing words: ‘‘Kara-buran!” 
(black storm). 

Dark streaks and yellow-red clouds rose above the entire dune- 
expanse, and soon merged into one single curtain. Our boatmen wanted 
to stay overnight where we were. But I had to get back to the barge, 
to wind the chronometers. 

“Out again, and row for dear life!”’ 

If only we could reach the opening of the channel, we would be out 
of danger. But in order to get there, we had to cross the mouth of a 
wide bay, extending toward the west. 

The air was still calm, and the lake was like glass. The men were 
kneeling, and their oars bent like bows. If the oars did not snap, we 
would escape the storm. Otherwise, the canoes would fill inside of two 
minutes, and we could not swim ashore. 

“Ya Allah!’ (O God!), cried Kirgui Pavan, in a dull voice. 

‘‘Now it has reached the dune,” he added, as black plumes of whirling 
sand were swept out over the lake by the gale. 

In the next moment the dune and the entire eastern shore disappeared 
in the dust. : 

A roaring sound was heard in the distance. It approached at a 


296 NMoY aU PE AS AUN: tees Pa Orn ros 


terrific speed, and became a deafening roar. The gale was already out 
on the lake. ‘The first gusts of wind reached us. 

“Row, row!’ Kirgui shouted. ‘“There is a God!” 

Our speed increased. The canoes cut through the water like knives. 
_ The water sizzled and foamed about their stems. We sat in tense 
expectation. It was still a mile to the northern shore. But in less than 
a minute, that, as well as the western one, was enveloped in the haze. 

Presently the storm was upon us. ‘The wind struck us a terrific 
blow. Had we not thrown ourselves over to windward in time, the 
canoes would have capsized. 

The waves rose with terrific rapidity. There was a whipping and 
sizzling foam from their crests. They lifted and tossed the canoes. 
One wave after another broke over us. We sat as if in tubs, and the 
water splashed back and forth with our careenings. Kirgui tried to 
get the best of the waves, by steering the canoe into them. I could see 
nothing except our boat and the nearest whitecapped waves, which 
were nearly black. Everything else had disappeared in a thick haze. 
It was dark and uncanny about us. And night was approaching. I 
wrapped up my notebooks and instruments, and started to undress. A 
few more waves would be enough to sink us.. ‘The long, straight gun- 
wales of the canoes were hardly two inches above water. 

But suddenly a miracle occurred! The waves suddenly became quite 
small, and the rocking stopped. Aha! Something dark appeared close 
to starboard. It was a tamarisk-thicket on a point of land jutting out 
from the northern shore: a natural breakwater! We were saved! We 
disembarked long enough to empty the canoes, and then continued on 
through the channel. But it grew pitch-dark, and the stalks of the reeds 
whipped our faces. After much groping about, we beheld a storm- 
lashed fire, and were soon back in the barge. 

We drifted on, with the current. Kirgui Pavan sat with his pole 
in front of my work-table; and he was an inexhaustible source of funny 
remarks and strange tales. “The demons of the air had once more been 
appeased. Silence reigned. Then a canoe approached at full speed, 
and pulled up alongside our boat. Quick steps were audible on board. 
Musa, the courier from Kashgar, came up to my table, and placed on 
it a large bundle of letters from my home, as well as newspapers and 
books. That night I lay reading until three o’clock. 

On the following days, we were often delayed by storms. We had 


ON DHE VB RANCTIONG PARK IM 297 


to move at night, when there was less wind. At these times, torch- 
bearers, in the canoes, went ahead of us. 

Again we were surprised by a courier. He brought only one letter, 
and that was from Petrovsky. Surely it was something important. The 
Governor-General at Tashkent had ordered the two Cossacks, Sirkin 
and Chernoff, to return to Kashgar, as there was some disturbance on 
the frontier between Russia and Asia. Chernoff happened to be in 
northern Tibet, and nothing could be done until he returned to my camp. 
I therefore sent a courier after him. 

At Chegelik-ui, a fishing-place, we had to abandon our old barge, 
as the waterways were too narrow for it. So we made two smaller 
vessels. Each consisted of a platform resting on three long canoes. 
On each platform we erected a framework, and covered it with blankets. 
I lived in one of them. The other became the home of Sirkin and 
Shagdur. Meanwhile, I developed the plates which I had exposed during 
the past weeks, in the cabin of the large boat. This vessel, having drifted 
nine hundred miles on the river, had certainly done good service. I gave 
it to the people of the place, for their own uses. 

The new boats were easy to manage; but when the water was rough, 
we had to bail the canoes out all the time. Yet we succeeded in reaching 
Abdal, an old fishing-village, the final point on our river-journey. 

A few days later, Chernoff, Turdu Bai, and Mollah Shah arrived, 
with four camels and ten horses, to take me and the rest of my luggage 
to our new headquarters, up in the mountains. The beasts had to rest 
a few days before we could start. The heat was terrible; the tempera- 
ture rose to more than 104° in the shade, and the air was full of big, 
bloodthirsty gadflies. They were the worst sort of plague for the camels 
and horses. ‘The animals, if left free to graze, in the daytime, would 
be covered with tens of thousands of these gadflies. The flies sucked 
the beasts’ blood and destroyed them. In consequence, the animals had 
to be kept inside of thatched huts, as long as the sun was up. After 
sunset, they would be bathed in the river, and afterwards permitted to 
remain out all night. One night, our camels disappeared. It was plain 
from their trail that they had gone back to the mountains, to escape 
the gadflies. urdu Bai mounted a horse, and chased them back. The 
gadflies tortured us, too. A walk from one hut to another was like 
venturing out in a shower of bullets. We all longed for the fresh, 
highland air. 


298 MY sal Rall (AS MONG CRA ie eats Bier 


On June 30, at five o’clock in the evening, my remaining belongings 
were loaded onto the four camels and two of the ten horses. While 
the camels were being laden, four men stood beside each beast, simply 
to kill gadflies. When everything was ready, the caravan proceeded. 
Shagdur had charge of the dogs that were still with us. “These were 
Mashka and Yoldash, together with the puppies, Malenki and Malchik. 
Turdu Bai was ordered to take the caravan to a point on the south 
shore of the Kara-koshun, from which point the road went southeast 
to the nearest spring in the mountains. It would take us a whole night 
to make this point on the shore. I preferred to go that distance by 
canoe; and thus, after the caravan had disappeared in the twilight, I 
was alone with Sirkin, Chernoff, and the last of our friends among 
the natives. 

The Cossacks took all my post with them, and were generously 
rewarded for their excellent service. After a final hand-shake, they 
mounted their horses, and disappeared in the dusk, with their small 
caravan, riding to Kashgar by way of Cherchen and Khotan. We parted 
with sadness and mutual regret. I felt companionless in the heart of 
Asia, with never a servant, and with no more baggage than I carried 
in my pockets. Therefore I did not stay one minute after the Cossacks 
had left me. I bade farewell to the Abdal people, got into a waiting 
canoe, and two Lop men took me down the river at a spanking pace. 
As long as the moon was up, we could see the shores. But the moon 
went down after a while; the river opened out into reedy marshes; and 
it became pitch-dark. How the men found their way was a puzzle to 
me. They did not talk. They just rowed towards the goal, without 
the slightest hesitation. The stars twinkled above the moving waters. 
The hours passed; and the canoe, never stopping, glided on and on. 
I dozed off, now and then, but was unable to sleep. This last journey 
of mine on the Tarim waterways was too exciting for that. 

Darkness still reigned, when the men touched the bank, saying that 
here was the meeting-place. We walked ashore and waited. After a 
while, shouts were heard in the distance. It was Shagdur arriving with 
the horses. We made a fire, prepared tea, and had breakfast. 

At dawn, Turdu Bai turned up with the camels. He merely saluted 
with “Salam aleikum,”’ and went on, without stopping. We said good- 
bye to the boat, mounted our horses, and followed in his track. 

The sun rose. Light, colours, and heat spread over the wilderness. 


ONG YT EE BER ANC bare Cra ADR ivi 299 


Thin violet clouds, with edges of molten gold, floated above the horizon. 
The outermost mountains of Tibet, bordering on the desert, looked very 
much like a sharply-outlined back-drop, done in light shades. Millions 
of gadflies awoke, and whizzed past us like shots, gleaming, with their 
stolen blood, like red rubies, when seen against the sun. 

At Dunglik, our first camping-place, where we were already 650 feet 
above the lakes, there were no human beings; but we found a spring 
and pasturage for our horses and camels. 


ee 


MAP OF ASIA SHOWING POSITION OF TIBET 


CHAP TERR KA Val 


Adventures in Eastern Tibet 


FEW hours before daybreak, we began preparations for a 
tedious day’s journey across barren country. After the animals 
had quenched their thirst, we filled the copper vessels with 
water for ourselves and the dogs. ‘The ground was hard. It 

consisted of gravel and coarse sand. ‘The lakes in the north looked like 
a faint, dark ribbon. All else was yellow-grey. The mountains became 
more distinct. Protruding rocks, entrances to valleys, and clefts became 
visible. 

After seven hours’ forced march, we passed a cairn. 

‘‘Now we are half-way,” Tokta Ahun declared. 

Mashka and Yoldash were quite used up, from the heat and drought. 
We halted a few times to give them water. Yet they lagged behind. 
We stopped once more, and waited; but there was no sign of them. 
Had they gone back to the lakes? Shagdur rode back with a can of 
water. He returned with Yoldash on his saddle. Mashka had drunk 
the water, and had then died, asif froma stroke. Yoldash was wrapped 
in a blanket and fastened to a camel. He was absolutely helpless. The 
little puppies lay in a basket, on another camel, who tossed them to and 
fro as he swayed. 

At last we reached the cpening of a valley, with a small, rippling 
brook, and rested there for a while. ‘The first thing we did was to 
release the three dogs. They could hardly stand on their legs; but upon 
hearing the rippling water, and slaking their thirst, they revived. They 
drank, coughed and hawked, drank again, and finally lay down in the 
brook, rolling about voluptuously. It grieved me that beautiful Mashka 
had not been able to get there. A little higher up in the valley, where 
there were fine, large tamarisks, we encamped at the well of Tatlik- 
bulak. We were now 6,300 feet above the sea. 

During the following days, we crossed the Astin-tagh and Akato- 
tagh, the first two mountain-ranges. From the pass, at the latter range, 


we perceived a third mountain-range to the south, the Chimen-tagh; 
300 


ey Vor eNT eh ho DN ebony ton NO DB ET 301 


and between it and us there was a long, open valley, with a small lake, 
on the shore of which we pitched our camp. 

At the well of Temirlik, we were 9,700 feet above the sea. We 
were rising to ever greater heights in desolate Tibet. During the day 
which we spent there, resting our animals, a whole caravan arrived, with 
maize, which we had ordered from Charkhlik, a small town southwest 
of the Lop-nor. 

Messengers from headquarters, at Mandarlik, also arrived, to say 
that all was well. One of the men had been employed by Islam Bai 
because he knew the region better than anyone else. This Aldat was 
of Afghan descent. He spoke Persian. He had an eagle nose, a short 
beard, and eyes full of melancholy. He was a yak-hunter by profession, 
and lived alone in the mountains all year round. His food consisted 
of the flesh of the wild yak, and his drink was snow-water. His pos- 
sessions were limited to the clothes on his body, a fur robe, a rifle, and 
ammunition. Inthe summer, his brothers would come up, with donkeys, 
to fetch the skins of the yaks he had killed. ‘These they sold at the 
bazaar in Keriya. 

Aldat always walked by himself, his head held high, and with a 
regal carriage. 

‘What do you do if the hunting fails?” I asked. 

“I go hungry till I find a yak again.”’ 

‘Where do you sleep during the cold winter nights?” 

‘In ravines and caves.”’ 

“Are you not afraid of wolves?” 

‘No. I have my rifle, fire-steel, flint, and tinder; and in the evenings 
I make a fire.”’ 

‘Don’t you ever get snowed in during the violent blizzards?” 

“Yes; but I always manage to get out in some way.” 

“Isn’t it gloomy to be always alone?” 

‘‘No; I have nobody to miss but my father and brothers, and they 
come up for a few days every summer.” 

Aldat was charmingly mysterious. He was like a disguised prince 
in a fairy-tale. He answered all questions briefly and correctly, but did 
not speak unless questioned. He was never seen to smile or laugh, or 
to talk with the other men. It was as though he were fleeing from a 
great sorrow, and sought solitude, danger, and the hard, adventurous 
struggle against the wolves and the storms. Yet he was a human being, 


302 Mey) IE0F Boy AS vA NB Or ene 


and probably had a craving to see other people once in a while. Thus, 
when I asked if he would go along on my first journey into wild Tibet, 
he answered yes! He was to be my huntsman, and show me the secret 
paths across the mountains. 

On July 13, we were all again assembled at the springs and brakes 
of Mandarlik, where we established our second large headquarters, the 
starting-point of our future expeditions. 

On July 18, we set out on the first of them. I planned to map out 
parts of the tableland of eastern Tibet that had not heretofore been 
explored. We took food sufficient for two and a half months, and 
for not more than eight men. Cherdon became my body-servant and 
cook. Turdu Bai led the seven camels, and Mollah Shah eleven horses 
and a mule. Kuchuk, a capable Lop man, was to be my boatman on 
any lakes which we might discover. Nias, a gold-miner from Keriya, 
had our sixteen sheep in charge. Aldat was guide and huntsman, and 
Tokta Ahun helped with the horses. Yoldash, Malchik, and a big 
Mongolian dog—a deserter from some nomad camp in the east—were 
also among those present. 

Already at our first camping-place, after crossing two passes, we 
had attained an altitude of 13,000 feet. Wild yaks, wild asses, marmots, 
and partridges were our immediate neighbours. The glowing summer, 
which we had left behind us so recently, had now changed to winter. 
The temperature sank to 23°. We broke camp on July 22, in a snow- 
storm, and rode through snow and a blizzard that raged all night. 

I was awakened at dawn by a great commotion in the camp. Cherdon 
reported that Nias and twelve sheep were missing. Only the four sheep 
that had been tethered were left. Everybody hurried out to search, 
Cherdon on horseback. About ten o’clock, Nias came back, deeply 
grieved, with only one sheep. He had found all the others done to 
death by wolves, and lying in their blood, here and there, in the snow. 
Only one sheep remained unaccounted for. Nias had been sleeping 
under a blanket-mat. In the middle of the night, awakened by pattering 
steps and bleating, he started up, and saw three wolves, who had stolen 
up on the sheep against the wind. The stupid animals had run out 
towards the fields. Nias dashed after them, but forgot to awaken the 
other men. ‘The wolves intercepted the sheep and tore them to pieces. 
Only one had escaped. The sly wolves had taken advantage of the 


AL Vel ING Usk INS RIN: eR BE TD) "303 


blizzard, which roared and howled so loudly, that the dogs had not 
noticed anything. 

The wolves probably stayed at the scene of carnage after we went 
away. Now we were more dependent on Aldat’s rifle than ever before. 
We had not gone far, when we saw the missing sheep, crazed and 
frightened out of its wits, running down a snow-covered hill. We 
rejoiced more over that single sheep than we had mourned over the 
loss of those that were killed. | 

During the days that followed, we made long, hard marches across 
the snowy ranges that were called Chimen-tagh, Ara-tagh, and Kalta- 
alaghan by gold-seekers and yak-hunters. ‘The last-named range we 
crossed through a pass 15,700 feet high. From there we beheld, in the 
south, a number of peaks with perpetual snow, belonging to four dif- 
ferent ranges, and, farthest away, on the horizon, the Arka-tagh, whose 
conquest a few years previously had cost me such great pains. 

On the south slope of the Kalta-alaghan, we got down into a wide, 
open valley, which we followed 
westwards. We-were stillin re-. [Dee 
gions that had been explored by 
Russian travellers, and also by 
Bonvalot and Littledale. We 
kept in the middle of the valley. 
The place swarmed with mar- 
mots, who would whistle before 
their holes and dive into them 
when the dogs darted after 
them. 

A herd of thirty-four wild 
asses Was grazing in the valley. 
Cherdon and Aldat, on horse- 
back, went after them. They all 
fled, except a mare, with her 
scarcely four-day-old colt. At 
last the mother fled, too; and WILD ASSES AT THE AGE OF A WEEK OR TWO 
Aldat gathered the colt up on 
his saddle. Later on, we caught another colt. They were both wrapped 
in blankets and loaded on a camel. We intended to feed them with 
flour-porridge until they could be put out to pasture. And they did 


304 MY DDR E CAS “AN Boxe Or 


actually lap it up. But when they showed signs of pining away, I told 
the men to let them loose, on the steppe where they had been caught, 
so that their mothers might find them again. . Tokta Ahun assured me 
that the mothers abhorred their colts after human hands had touched 
them. If that was so, these colts would fall prey to the wolves. We 
decided, therefore, to kill them; and we found their meat to be tender 
and palatable. 

A well-defined field of drift-sand, with dunes of considerable height, 
extended along the entire base of the southern mountain enclosing this 
large valley. A horse-fly, called iJa, was common in this valley. It had 
the bad habit of lodging in the nostrils of the grazing animals. Our 
horses were terrorized by these tormentors. ‘They would snort, jerk 
their heads, lie down on the ground, and writhe, regardless of burdens 
and riders. ‘The wild yaks, wild asses, and antelopes go up among the 
sand-dunes, where they are safe, in the daytime, and graze in the valley 
at night. Quite a while before sunset, we noticed thirty fine yaks wander- 
ing on the sand-field, on their way to the valley. At the sight of the 
caravan, they halted on the top of a high dune. The pitch-black yaks 
made a splendid and impressive picture against the yellow-grey sand, 
as they stood in a long line, sniffing, with heads raised, and with the 
perpetual snow-fields for a background. 

We approached the shore of the Bash-kum-kol (the Upper Sand 
Lake), a small lake, discovered by Przhevalsky. Fourteen yak were 
grazing there. Cherdon stole up to an old bull in the herd. But the 
bull refused to be frightened. He gazed steadily at the hunter, and 
even advanced a few steps towards him. Indeed, Cherdon was the one 
to turn and flee, much to the amusement of the caravan. ‘To save his 
reputation, he pursued a wolf-cub instead, and brought it back to the 
camp. A halter was put around the neck of the little beast, and we 
kept him a prisoner overnight. ‘Tokta Ahun believed that if harm came 
to the youngster, the mother would surely take revenge on our last 
sheep. But the cunning wolfling gnawed through the rope during the 
night, and in the morning he was gone. The men hoped that he would 
grow till the noose choked him; but I suspect the mother wolf knew how 
to free him from the rope. 

New, long, and difficult marches took us up toward the heights of 
the Arka-tagh. We marched through stupendous labyrinths of moun- 
tains. Now it rained, now the hail lashed the hills, now the sun shone 


DWE NO RES Ne A Slo RONG EB ET 305 


so warmly that huge bumblebees, dressed in furs and buskins, hummed 
in the air like organ-notes. In the valleys, we sometimes surprised large 
herds of antelope. It is hard to imagine a more beautiful spectacle 
than these agile, elegant animals presented, with their shiny horns 
sparkling like bayonets in the sunshine. 

Aldat’s knowledge of the country ended here; so Turdu Bai rode 
up towards the heights of the Arka-tagh to look for a pass. Yoldash 
went with him. The dog caught sight of an antelope, and ran in pursuit 


A HERD OF “ORONGO”’ ANTELOPES 


of the animal across a defile. When [urdu Bai returned, Yoldash was 
missing. We went on, thinking that the dog would find his way back 
to us. A heavy rain began to fall. We stopped at once, but failed to 
get the tents up in time to prevent a soaking. Yoldash was still missing. 
He was separated from the caravan by a pass, as well as by the pouring 
rain. Turdu Bai rode back, crossed the ridge over which the antelope 
and dog had disappeared, and finally came upon Yoldash, who, quite 
beside himself—he having lost his own trail—was searching for us in 
a side-valley where we had never been. 

Thereupon we crossed the Arka-tagh by way of a pass 17,000 feet 
high, and descended to the large, elongated valley in which I had dis- 


306 MY: LIFE VAS AN EXPLORER 


covered the twenty-two lakes, four years before. Now we had virgin 
country ahead of us to the south, and we were to cross the routes of 
only two previous explorers. It was with a sense of satisfaction that 
I entered this new terra incognita, where there were no paths except 
those beaten by wild yaks, wild asses, and antelopes. Aldat shot two 
antelopes; and so we had meat for several days, without having to have 
recourse to our last three sheep. 

The night, too, possessed a sublime grandeur. Scattered clouds, with 
luminous borders, sailed across the moon; and silvery snow shimmered 
gloriously on an enormous expanse of glacier in the south. Majestic 
desolation and loneliness surrounded us. 

The caravan-animals began to tire. The pasturage was miserable 
at these great heights. The camels, who shed their hair in summertime, 
were freezing in the snow, hail, and rain which the bulky clouds, formed 
by the strong western winds, let fall daily. Induced by the severe 
climate, however, the winter coats began to grow on the camels. 

Crossing the Tibetan highland from north to south, as we did, we 
had to traverse all the parallel mountain-ranges running west and east. 
Ever-new ranges in the south, and mighty, broad, endless valleys between 
them, were visible from each pass. Again a range lay before us. It 
looked flat and smoothed-off. I rode on ahead. The barren ground 
was soaking-wet, and as soft as mush. I dismounted, and led my horse, 
who sank one foot deep in the mud at every step. The camels followed 
lumbering and slow. Their feet made deep holes, which immediately 
filled with water. We were unable to proceed in this treacherous muck; 
and after vainly working our way up to an altitude of 17,200 feet, we 
turned back. ‘The animals were given two days’ rest, in a valley in 
which there was a sparse growth of grass. We covered the camels 
with blankets at night, to keep them from freezing in the snow and 
wind. Cherdon’s horse died, and my splendid Cossack was unconsolable. 
He had taught the horse all sorts of tricks—to lie down, to come when 
called, and to walk daintily and carefully when the Cossack stood on his 
hands in the saddle. 

On August 12, we tried to cross the nasty stretch of mud by another 
pass. The ground was as treacherous as before. It cluck-clucked and 
swished under the feet of the camels and horses. Everyone went on 
foot. Our hearts thumped as though they would burst. We finally 
reached the summit, 16,800 feet high. 


POD VEIN oy aR RaSh te ena ey RGN, TPB EE: 3307 


A lone wolf was lurking up there. At the same moment that we 
reached the top, the day’s hailstorm came driving along, with roaring, 
rattling thunderclaps. ‘Fhe ground shook. It sounded like salvos from 
a warship, or like a whole army of giants playing skittles. We were 
so high up, that the clouds were partly below us in the valleys. We 
were in the very heart of the storm. Nothing was discernible in the 
beating hail, and we did not know which direction to take to get down 
from this terrible ridge. There was no alternative but to pitch the 
tents in the wet, herd the camels close together in a semicircle, and cover 
them with blankets. Everything was splashing-wet; and the tent, 
blankets, and impedimenta were all dripping with water. One of the 
camels had collapsed on the way up. The others made a feast on the 
hay of his pack-saddle. 

The next day brought fine weather; and in the valley at the southern 
base of this ugly range, we found pasturage on sandy soil, and rested 
for two days. All our clothes and blankets were spread out on the sand 
to dry. 

We left one more range behind, and then the highland opened out 
into a vast plateau, with a soil well suited for travel. A salt-lake 
appeared far away to the south, and we camped on its northwestern 
shore. Late one evening, the men heard strange sounds in the distance. 
They had an uneasy feeling; for it sounded like human beings calling. 
Aldat suspected wolves. He had wounded an antelope; but it had 
escaped. Later on, he found the victim eaten by wolves down to the 
bone. We needed meat; but there was still enough rice and bread. 

On August 22, Kuchuk and I rowed across the lake, to a hillock 
on the south shore, where the caravan was to meet us in the evening 
and make a bonfire. The weather was glorious. The lake was so 
shallow, that for hours Kuchuk could propel the boat simply by pushing 
his oar against the bottom, which consisted of a hard layer of salt. 
Further out, we found the greatest depth, which was only seven and a 
half feet. The lake was nothing more than an extremely thin sheet of 
water in a shallow basin. The day was beautiful and calm. Absolute 
Sabbath stillness reigned over the lake. The colours were wonderful 
in the sunlight. Close to the boat, the water was light-green; farther 
away it was marine-blue. The sky, the water, the clouds, the mountains, 
everything stood out in ethereally light and fleeting shades. The weather 
was quite warm; and we got thoroughly dried out, after all our wettings 


308 MY GIRE CAS (AN EX PUOR EIR 


in the mountains. ‘The water was so salt that everything it touched 
became white. It was for all the world like the Dead Sea, except that 
we were here at an altitude of 15,600 feet. Throughout the first few 
hours, we could see the caravan on the left shore; but later on, the dis- 
tance became too great. | 

The day passed, twilight fell, and we were still on the lake. No fire 
was to be seen, nor camels nor horses. We landed, and looked about us, 
from a hillock. Here lay the skull of a wild ass, and there was the 
fresh track of a bear. We shouted, but got no answer. Something 
had happened to the caravan. Otherwise, a couple of horsemen, at 
least, would have met us, with food, warm clothes, and bedding. 

Before it got absolutely dark, we gathered fuel, which was only 
the droppings of the yak and wild ass. At nine o’clock we made a fire, 
and sat talking for an hour. Then we went to sleep. Kuchuk wrapped 
the sail around me. A life-preserver served for a pillow; and half of 
the collapsible boat was inverted over me like a bell. There I lay, like 
a corpse in its coffin. Kuchuk shovelled sand all around me, with his 
hands, so as to keep the draught out. It reminded me of a grave-digger 
filling up the grave. He himself crept in under the other half of the 
boat. A heavy shower battered noisily on the tightly-stretched canvas 
bottom. That might well have been the roll of the drums in our funeral- 
music. However, I soon fell asleep in this tomb of mine, and did 
not arise again from the dead until the sun stood well above the horizon. 

A fresh breeze set in from the east. That suited us splendidly, as 
we were going westwards along the southern shore, to find out what 
had become of our people. We put the two halves of the boat together 
again, stepped the mast, hoisted sail, and had a lovely three hours’ trip 
across the salt-waves. There was considerable pitching, and Kuchuk 
became seasick. At last we saw the tent. Cherdon and Aldat waded 
into the shallow water, and pulled us ashore. We were hungry, and 
were longing for breakfast. Aldat had shot a wild ass; and once more 
we had meat. 

The caravan had been checked by a river, one hundred and ninety 
feet wide, and ten feet deep, which emptied into the salt-lake. We 
went to the bank of the river. We stretched a rope across the 
river, and in fourteen relays the baggage was transferred. ‘The horses 
swam across, but the camels gave us trouble. They had to be hauled 


ADVENTURES IN EAS TERN. DLBE T. 309 


along by the boat; and they lay in the water like dead, until they felt 
solid ground again under their feet. 

This done, we continued southwards, arriving in a few days at still 
another salt-lake, which derived its supply from two beautiful fresh- 
water lakes to the south. This region was extremely charming. I 
willingly sacrificed a week, during which our camels and horses grazed 
on the shores. I myself employed the time in crossing the lakes in 
different directions, sounding their depths, mapping their shores, and 
catching fish under perpendicular cliffs. Kuchuk and I had many wild 
adventures here in heavy storms, but we came through safely. 

On September 2, I rode seventeen miles southwards, through a 
country full of wild yaks, wild asses, antelopes, hares, field-mice, 
marmots, wild geese, wolves, and foxes. Some slopes were quite thickly 
dotted with yaks. 

When we were once more all together in the camp, we found we 
had sufficient meat for two weeks; for Aldat had shot a yak calf and 
four antelopes. But we had been away from our headquarters at 
Mandarlik one and a half months, and had taken along provisions for 
only two and a half months. We had fed to the caravan-animals part 
of the flour, and were now living principally on meat. So far we were 
all right. But we would have to go back by a more westerly route, still 
in unexplored country. It was not a part of my plans to penetrate 
deeper into Tibet; for I purposed visiting the ancient town in the Lop 
Desert once more, before the coming winter should end, 


CHUA PR UEE. Re xox 


A Death-Strewn Retreat 


north side of a huge mass of glaciers, while I skirted it on the 
south side, with Cherdon and Aldat. We took enough food to 
last the three of us one week. 

A lone yak was grazing on a hillock close to our second camp. Aldat 
sneaked like a cat through the ravines and depressions, till within thirty 
paces of the yak. I followed the hunt through my field-glasses. Aldat 
calmly rested the rifle on a notched stick, and fired. The yak gave a 
start, took a few steps, stopped, fell, rose, swayed to and fro, fell again, 
and remained prostrate. It had been a fatal shot. Aldat lay motionless 
with his rifle. Cherdon and I advanced to the place with knives. Having 
made sure that the yak was dead, we joined in skinning him and removing 
the best parts of his flesh, including the tongue, kidneys, and heart, 
which were usually reserved for me. 

On the next morning, Aldat returned to the fallen yak to fetch more 
meat. We were at an altitude of 16,870 feet. ‘There was a strong 
west wind. In the west, a high pass was visible, which we had to 
traverse, in order to meet Turdu Bai and the caravan. There being 
no sign of Aldat, Cherdon went to search, and found him lying ill 
beside his victim. Cherdon helped him down to the camp. The young 
huntsman was suffering from headache and nose-bleed. Cherdon and 
I loaded our horses, wrapped Aldat up in his fur, and helped him into 
the saddle. 

The soil yielded under the weight of our horses, and they worked 
their way with difficulty up towards this terrible pass, 17,800 feet high. 
Aldat was delirious. He swayed to and fro in his saddle so much, that 
he had to be lashed to it. 

A day later, we came upon Turdu Bai and cabins who were on 
the lookout for us. ‘They took us to their camp. When we continued 
westward, in a body, afterwards, we made Aldat a bed of bags and 


blankets on the back of a camel. He, who was usually so taciturn, now 
310 


| ORDERED Turdu Bai to take the caravan westward, on the 


A DEATH-STREWN REE REAT dit 


lay singing Persian songs. For quite a while, an old coal-black yak, 
whose sides were adorned with long fringes, walked ahead of us. He 
looked like a tournament-horse dressed in mourning. 

We proceeded toward the northwest for several days. ‘The weather 
was cruel to us. There was wind and snow every day. ‘The snow was 
a foot deep, and treacherously concealed marmot-holes. ‘The horses 
would step into them frequently, and stumble. Where we camped, the 
animals vainly sought the sparse grass under the snow. 

Aldat grew worse. His feet turned black. I rubbed them for hours 
to induce circulation; and we gave him warm foot-baths, which afforded 
relief. We ought to have stopped for his sake; but our food-supply 
was perilously near its end, and Aldat was the hunter who should have 
provided us with fresh meat. Cherdon was an excellent shot, too; but 
he had taken too few cartridges with him. With his last one he brought 
down a young yak, which gave us meat for some time. 

One evening, Aldat asked to be laid outside, between two camels; 
for he thought the warmth of their bodies might be beneficial. His wish 
was granted. Mollah Shah and Nias watched over him. 

On the morning of September 17, I was awakened by shrieks and 
noises in the camp. I rushed out just in time to see a bear, that had 
been nosing among the tents, trot off, pursued by the dogs. 

Two days later, we came back to the ugly, muddy range which we 
had crossed with so much difficulty far eastwards. A camel sank deep 
into the mud, fell over, had to be freed from his load, and would have 
been lost, had we not managed to dig out his legs, one by one, and put 
blankets under them. By means of tent-poles and ropes, we finally got 
him on his feet again. He looked like a clay model. His dark-grey 
armour had to be scraped off with a knife. 

We had seen no sign of human beings for two months. We were 
still two hundred and forty miles from Temirlik, where the caravan 
had been instructed to await our arrival. Everyone longed to get there, 
away from this uncanny, murderous highland. 

At one camping-place, Aldat became so sick, that we tarried there 
fora day. With Aldat’s rifle, Cherdon shot a yak, and, near the camp, 
an antelope. The Mohammedans then tried a new cure on the patient. 
They skinned the antelope, undressed Aldat, and wrapped the still-warm 
skin, hairy side out, closely around the sick man’s body. 

Yoldash cut off a marmot’s retreat to his hole; and one of the men 


312 MY: LIFE AS: AN TE XPT ORR 


caught the little fellow, and tied him to a pole between the tents. We 
tried to tame him, hoping thus to acquire a nice new playfellow. But 
he never became quite tame. If a staff or tent-pole was held out to 
him, he would bite large chunks out of it with his sharp front teeth. 
At every camp, he would begin digging a new hole, in which to take 
refuge; but before the hole was even a foot deep, we would be off 
for a new camp. 

In the evening, Aldat grew still weaker. He breathed rapidly; his 
pulse was imperceptible; his temperature was low. When we were ready 
to depart, the following morning, the sick man was made as comfortable 
as possible on his camel. Just as the beast was about to rise, a strange, 
grey pallour passed over the sunburnt face of Aldat, and he opened 
his eyes. He was dead. We stood there, silent and grave, around his 
living bier. He lay there, regally straight and proud, his broken glance 
directed upward to the Tibetan sky. | 

Notwithstanding the wishes of the men, I could not bring myself 
to have Aldat buried at once. His body was still warm. Part of the 
caravan had already begun the day’s march. Aldat’s camel, too, was 
allowed to rise and follow the trail. It was a sad and gloomy journey. 
No singing was heard, nor any conversation. Only the bronze bells 
tolled, like church-bells for a departing funeral-cortége. “Two ravens 
circled above us. Yaks, wild asses, and antelopes gazed at us, and 
approached closer than usual. ‘They seemed to be aware that the Nimrod 
of the wilderness was dead. 

We halted, and pitched tent, in a small valley near a salt-lake, on 
the shores of which no European had ever before set foot. A grave 
was dug. The dead man was lowered, on his coat, into this grave, and 
covered over with his fur rug. ‘Then the grave was filled, and the heavy 
soil of Tibet rested on his breast. His face was turned toward Mecca. 
A post, to the top of which we tied the tail of the last yak he had shot, 
marked the head of his grave; and a small head-board, nailed to the 
post, gave his name, date of death, and the fact that he had sacrificed 
his life in my service. 

On September 24, everyone wanted to leave the valley of Death’s 
shadow as early as possible. When the camels were laden, and every- 
thing was ready, we went to the grave, where the Mohammedans knelt 
down in prayer. ‘Then we departed. On a ridge near by, I turned in 
my saddle. The yak-tail was fluttering in the wind. Aldat was sleeping 


A DEATH-STREWN RETREAT 313 


his last sleep in majestic peace and solitude. I wheeled my horse round, 
and the grave vanished from my sight. 

No grass! No wild animals! One horse fell down for good; and 
the others were in bad shape. The camels walked with half-closed eyes, 
as if affected by sleeping-sickness. We had only enough maize for two 
days; and we sacrificed a portion of our rice to the animals. We 
encamped at an altitude of 16,800 feet. After I had put out my candle, 
in the evening, the flap of the tent burst open violently, and in came—a 
new blizzard, with whirling clouds of snow. 

In their regular order, we traversed once more the same mountain- 
ranges that we had already crossed, far to the east. One of them 


THE GRAVE OF ALDAT IN THE SOLITUDE OF TIBET 


towered now right across our path. We mounted slowly to its pass, 
which was more than 17,000 feet high. But the northern slope was 
very steep. From the top of the ridge, it looked as if solid ground 
had come to an end, fathomless space yawning below and before us. 
A blizzard was raging in the valley, and the snow whirled along the 
mountain-side as if in a witches’ cauldron. ‘The horses slid on their 
haunches, but the camels had to be carefully piloted through the snow. 

We slaughtered our last sheep at the next camp. It was like mur- 
dering a fellow traveller. We continued northward. Yoldash overtook 


314 MY (LIFE “ASS ANY BeaPiiOnRie 


a young antelope, and killed it; and we had meat once more. We 
advanced toward another pass. Two horses died on the way, and two 
more before we reached the top. One of them was the little grey horse 
I had ridden through the desert to Cherchen, and across the Lop 
Desert, to the sixty wells and the ancient city. In the morning, one 
more horse lay dead between the tents. 

Again we were in familiar country. On October 8, the temperature 
sank to—-1°. Our provisions had dwindled down to six pieces of bread 
and enough rice for four days. The way led through a valley, enclosed 
by granite cliffs, and with some abandoned gold-workings in its centre. 
We were all on foot. A camel died the next night. He had held out 
to the very end, proud and resigned. Now he was giving up all hope 
of pasturage, and had no choice but to die. His pack-saddle was con- 
sumed by the surviving veterans. 

The valley sank. We approached lower regions, and pitched our 
tents at an altitude of 13,300 feet. On the face of a rock, I discovered 
some petroglyphs, which represented bowmen pursuing antelopes. There 
was also a Mongolian obo, with mani (stones). Cherdon shot a wild 
ass with Aldat’s rifle, and we were saved once more. But the most 
wonderful thing that happened at this camping-place was that Mollah 
Shah, while tending the grazing animals, perceived two mounted hunters 
from East Turkestan, and hailed them. They were brought to my tent. 
We had not seen a human being for eighty-four days, and were greatly 
cheered by this chance encounter. I began by purchasing their two 
horses and a small batch of wheat-flour. Next, one of the men was 
commissioned to ride to Temirlik, personally to bear my order to Islam 
Bai to hurry to meet us with food and fifteen horses. I gave him two 
empty tins to serve as credentials. ‘Togdasin—that was his name— 
might well have stolen the horse, which I had already paid for. But 
I trusted him; and he executed his commission faithfully. 

After two more days of travel eastwards, we broke camp, on October 
14, in a hopeful mood; for on that day we were to meet Islam Bai’s 
rescuing-party. We marched all day. It grew grey and dark; yet we 
walked on. | 

‘A fire in the distance !”’ someone shouted. 

We increased our speed. Everyone was hungry. The fire dis- 
appeared. We shouted, and fired some revolver-shots, but got no 
answer. The night-cold chilled us. We stopped for half an hour, and 


AY DEATHS Tin Wen RE IR EvAT 315 


made a fire. Then we continued eastward, hour after hour, through 
the same large valley in which Temirlik and our headquarters were 
situated. . 

The fire reappeared. We kept on for a while; but when the light 
finally vanished again, we found ourselves exhausted. Our animals 
were tired to death. They were naught but skin and bones. Perhaps 
we had seen only a phantom fire. There was some tea-water left in a 
jug; and I had a piece of broiled wild ass’s meat with it for supper. 

Grass and fuel were plentiful; and we stayed here for a day. A well 
was discovered near by. Yesterday’s fire had evidently been built by 
hunters who wished to avoid us. Perhaps, after all, Togdasin had 
failed us. 

Later in the day, Cherdon came to me in my tent, and said he 
thought he saw a troop of horsemen approaching from the west. I 
went out with my field-glasses. Was it wild asses or a witch-dance 
that I saw in this enchanted valley? Whatever it was, the shimmering 
atmosphere caused me to see an undulating swarm of some kind, floating 
above the ground. But they grew larger; they came nearer; I saw 
the clouds of dust they stirred up. ‘They were indeed horsemen! 
Presently Islam Bai rode up to my tent, and reported that all was well 
at headquarters. He brought fifteen horses; and a Lucullian dinner 
was soon prepared for us, who had been hungry for so long. They 
had ridden past us, during the night, after our fire had gone out, and 
had continued west until they were set right by the trail of our camels. 

Kader Ahun, a brother of Aldat, was among Islam’s men. He 
told of having dreamt one night that he was out walking in the waste 
and had met our caravan. All except Aldat were there. When he 
awoke, he understood that Aldat had died; and he told Islam and the 
others about it. We figured out that he had had his dream on the very 
day that Aldat died. He got his brother’s rifle, the wages due him, 
and the equivalent of his clothes and of the skins of yaks he had killed. 

Two horses out of twelve, and four camels out of seven, remained, 
when we reached Temirlik, two days later. And Aldat was dead. 

After a rest, and after I had developed the exposed plates in a cave, 
I started out, on November 11, on a month’s expedition, the large salt- 
lake of Ayag-kum-kol being my objective. I took with me Cherdon, 
Islam Bai, Turdu Bai, Tokta Ahun, Khodai Verdi, the hunter, Togdasin, 
thirteen horses, four mules, and two dogs. 


316 MY LIFE ASANTE XP DO RR 


New, unknown country was mapped out. The eternal mountains 
were crossed by new passes. Once Cherdon and Togdasin went to hunt 
wild sheep. They caught sight of a herd, tied their horses, and pursued 
the sheep on the precipices. The sheep escaped. ‘Togdasin suddenly 
collapsed like a rag, complaining of pains in his heart and head. They 
remained out in the open all night, and 
reached camp the following morning, 
much exhausted. From that time on, 
Togdasin was an invalid. I sent him 
down to Charkhlik, after we got back to 
our Temirlik headquarters. He lost 
both his feet; and the compensation that 
I could give him in silver was nowise 
proportioned to his loss. But even as a 
cripple, he was always cheerful, content, 
and grateful. 

Tokta Ahun and I made some long 
trips on the wide waters of the Ayag- 
kum-kol, to sound its depth. We found 
the greatest depth to be seventy-nine 
feet. Thereupon we returned over new 
roads to the headquarters in the valley 
of Temirlik. 

A large Mongolian caravan of pilgrims, from the district around 
Kara-shahr, had arrived at ‘Temirlik during our absence, and had stopped 
there for some days. It consisted of seventy-three Lama priests and 
two nuns, with a hundred and twenty camels, forty horses, and seven 
fine horses intended as a gift to the Dalai Lama in Lhasa. They had 
held long conversations with Shagdur, who spoke their language, and 
had shown a marked interest in our headquarters. ‘They told of 
having with them a hundred and twenty silver yambas (about 5,500 
dollars), which were also to be presented to the Dalai Lama. That 
was the Peter’s pence which the pious had to render to the highest 
chief priest of Lamaism, for the favour of being blessed by his holy 
hand and seeing his face. Their provisions consisted of dried meat, 
roasted wheat-flour, and tea. They were going to travel over the high 
mountains, across the range of Tang-la, and down to the river of © 
Nakchu, where they intended to leave their camels, continuing to Lhasa 


WILD SHEEP OF TIBET 


A DEATHS TREWN URED RE AT 317 
on hired horses. They told Shagdur that the Governor of Nakchu 


required a passport of every pilgrim, and exercised the most rigorous 
control, in order to prevent disguised Europeans from penetrating to 
Lhasa. This caravan of pilgrims harmed us considerably. My plan, 
which I had not yet confided to any of my men, was to attempt to 
approach the Holy City in disguise, the following year. The pilgrims 
would be in advance of us, and would report in Lhasa what they had 
seen and heard about us; and the roads leading over Nakchu would be 
guarded more strictly than ever. Fora while, I thought of outstripping 
the pilgrims, and riding with a light horse-caravan to Lhasa by a more 
westerly route. But between the alternatives of Lhasa and the ancient 
desert-city, I chose the latter. Grueber and D’Orville, two Jesuits, had 
visited Lhasa in 1661; and in the eighteenth century, the Capuchins 
maintained a mission-station there for several decades, the most famous 
members and chroniclers of which were Orazio della Penna and Cassiano 
Beligatti. [he Jesuit priests, Ippolito Desideri and Manuel Freyre, 
had been there in 1715, and Van de Putte, a Dutchman, two decades 
later. In 1847, Huc and Gabet, two French Lazarists, visited Lhasa, 
and gave an account of it. Indian pundits and Russian Buriats had 
been sent there, time and again, with instruments and cameras. And 
thus we have a fairly good knowledge of Lhasa. 

But ever since Noah stepped out of the Ark, no European had 
set foot in the ancient desert-city, until I discovered its towers and 
houses, in March, 1900. Thus a hazardous journey to Lhasa, in dis- 
guise, was rather a whim, a sporting-feat; whereas a systematic exami- 
nation of the desert-city might be of incalculable importance to science. 
I therefore devoted the winter to the desert and its mysteries. The 
Lhasa expedition was postponed to the next summer. In a later chapter 
I will tell how the Mongolian pilgrims succeeded in thwarting my designs. 


GEA PE ERNE 
Through the Gobi Desert Without Water 


of my men moved our headquarters to the small town of 
Charkhlik, there to await my arrival in the following spring. 
I was accompanied by the Cossack Shagdur, the Mohamme- 
dans Faizullah, Tokta Ahun, Mollah, Kuchuk, Khodai Kullu, Khodai 
Verdi, Ahmed, and another Tokta Ahun, a Chinese-speaking huntsman 
whom we called Li Loye, in order not to confuse the two like-named 
men. We had eleven camels, eleven horses, and Yoldash, Malenki, 
and Malchik, the dogs. All the animals were thoroughly rested and in 
excellent form. It was my plan to march two hundred and forty miles 
between the parallel ranges of the Astin-tagh to Anambaruin-ula (a 
mountain-mass in the east), then northward through the Gobi Desert, 
thence westward to Altmish-bulak, and finally southwestward to the 
ancient city and by way of the Lop-nor to Charkhlik. 

We left on December 12. In the beginning we had some 
troublesome days, pushing our way through the narrow valleys of the 
Akato-tagh, with their soft slate-clay. Nobody had ever been there 
before, and not even the natives knew the glen which we hoped would 
lead to a pass across the range. The lateral mountains were per- 
pendicular, and several hundred yards high. The bottom of the valley 
was dry as tinder and absolutely barren. The bronze bells echoed 
wonderfully in the yellow passage. There had been landslides in vari- 
ous places, but the rocks did not stop us. We were, however, always in 
danger of being buried by new landslides. The valley became narrower. 
Eventually the packs scraped the walls on both sides; and the camels, 
squeezing their way through, made the dust fly. I hurried ahead to 
reconnoitre, and found that the valley shrank to two feet, and that 
at the very end there was only a vertical crack, which not even a cat 
could have squeezed through. 

There was nothing to do but turn back. We hoped there had not 

318 


B: my orders, Cherdon, Islam Bai, Turdu Bai, and a few more 


aR) taiGe a Bets OB Dok Seo RT ao 


been a landslide meantime; for in that event we might very well have 
been entrapped like so many mice. 

After a thorough reconnaisance, we finally succeeded in surmounting 
the ranges; and thereafter we walked east and northeast over good 
terrain. 

New Year’s Eve, the last night of the century, was cold and clear, 
and the moon shone like an arc-light. I read the texts that were being 
listened to in every church in Sweden that evening. Alone in my tent I 
awaited the approach of the new century. There were no bells here 
other than those of the camels, no organ-music but the roar of the 
continual storms. 

On January 1, 1901, we encamped in the valley of Anambaruin-gol, 
and I decided to encircle the entire mountainous bulk of that name, 
a stretch of a hundred and eighty-six miles. On one occasion we sur- 
prised twelve beautiful wild sheep climbing the steeps of an almost 
perpendicular mountain-wall with the agility of monkeys. ‘They eyed 
us steadily, the while Shagdur managed to steal in below them. A 
shot rang out, and a dignified ram tumbled two hundred feet down 
the precipice and received a death-blow on the round pads of his twisted 
horns. 

A week later, we were at the lake of Bulungir-gol and visited some 
yurts of the Mongolian Sartang tribe on the surrounding steppe. ‘The 
road back to Anambaruin-gol took us north of the mountain-group, and 
we had to cross its deep valleys, which stretched toward the Gobi 
Desert. There were countless springs and ice-cakes. The pasturage 
was good, and we encamped under old willow trees. It did not matter 
much that the cold dropped to —27°, for fuel was plentiful. Partridges 
were abundant, and they gave pleasant variety to my dinners. Two 
old Mongols, of whom we inquired our way, sold us grain for our 
camels and horses. And at last we camped on the Anambaruin-gol, 
on the same spot as before. 

From there, I sent Tokta Ahun and Li Loye to headquarters, in 
Charkhlik, with six tired horses and the specimens I had collected thus 
far. Also, they took a written order to Islam Bai to send a relief- 
party to the northern shore of the Lop-nor (or Kara-koshun), to 
establish a base of supplies there, and to light a bonfire every morning 
and evening, from March 13 on, for at about that time we would 
be on our way from the ancient city through the desert. 


320 MOY cb T RBM AS. uAIN SE A ie ae 


The rest of us, carrying six bags full of ice, started north into the 
desolate Gobi Desert. We walked through stretches of high sand- 
dunes, across small weather-worn granite mountains, across a clay- 
desert and a steppe, and came out on a very ancient road, identifiable 
only by the heaps of stones that had withstood Time. Wild camels, 
antelopes, and wolves appeared now and then. We dug a well in a 
welcome depression. It yielded potable water, and the camels and 
horses quenched their thirst. 

With enough ice to last men and horses ten days, we marched 
northward through an unknown desert. Wild-camel prints were now 
exceedingly frequent. The desert was as smooth as a lake. After a 
while, the terrain rose; and we crossed some small weather-worn ridges. 
There was not a drop of water. And it would have been useless to dig 
for any. We accordingly turned southwest and west, and I made for 
Altmish-bulak by compass. 

We made long marches for the next week or so. Our friend 
Abd-ur Rahim, who had showed us the way to Altmish-bulak the year 
before, had mentioned three salt-springs situated east of that place. 
The camels had had no water now for ten days, and only a few mouth- 
fuls of snow from a crevice. On February 17, our situation began 
to be critical, and it became imperative to find one of Abd-ur Rahim’s 
three springs. All day long and the entire next day we searched in 
vain for water. The terrain, too, was now against us. We reached 
those parts of the clay-desert where the wind had ploughed furrows, 
twenty feet deep and thirty-five feet wide, between long, perpendicular 
clay-ridges. They ran from north to south, and we had to explore 
endlessly before we got past them. There was not a stick of fire-wood 
at the camp that evening, and so we sacrificed one tent-pole. 

By February 19, the camels had not drunk for twelve days. They 
would soon die of thirst, if water was not found. I moved on in ad- 
vance. My horse followed me like a dog. Yoldash was with me. A 
small mountain-ridge made me swerve to the southwest. I walked in a 
dry bed, in the sandy bottom of which I discerned the fresh trail of 
about thirty wild camels. A small glen opened on the right. All the 
camel-tracks radiated from there like a fan. There must be a well 
there. I walked up the valley and soon found a cake of ice, forty feet 
in diameter and three inches thick. Thus the camels were saved. 
When they got into the valley, we broke the ice-cake into pieces and 


LEAR OU Gov tybe Go Bl DESERT 321 


fed them to the animals. They crunched the ice like so much sugar. 

During the following days we discovered the other two springs also. 
They were surrounded by reed-fields. Eighteen wild camels were graz- 
ing near the last spring. Shagdur stole upon them; but he shot at too 
great a range, and the camels vanished like the wind. 

We were scheduled to be twenty-eight kilometres from Altmish- 
bulak on February 24. The little oasis should be situated S. 60° W. 
Consequently, in the morning, I promised my men that before evening 
came we would pitch our tent among the tamarisks and reed-thickets 
of “The Sixty Springs.”’ 

There was a strong northeast wind, which helped us along. But 
an enveloping haze rested on the waste; and what would become of 
us, if we should inadvertently pass the little oasis? I was headed for a 
certain point in the desert, but the dust-haze obstructed my view. 

I had already covered twenty-eight kilometres and began to fear 
that the oasis was behind me. But what was this? Something straw- 
yellow gleamed right in front of me. It was reeds. And I caught 
sight of fourteen wild camels. I stopped, while Shagdur stole upon 
them. He succeeded in bringing down a young female, who was still 
on her feet when we got to her; also an older specimen, a male, whose 
skeleton we prepared during the following days, and which now reposes 
in the Zoological Museum of the Stockholm High School. | 

According to my calculations, our distance from the spring should 
have been twenty-eight kilometres; but it proved to be thirty-one. This 
miscalculation—three kilometres in 1450, or two-tenths per cent—was 
not great. 

We indulged in a thorough rest after these forced marches. Then 
I left one man, the horses, and some tired camels in pasturage, and 
went south with the rest of the caravan. We took all of our luggage 
and nine bags of ice. 

On March 3, we camped at the base of a clay tower, twenty-nine 
feet high. We stowed our ice in the shadow of a clay-ridge and sent 
a man back to the spring with all the camels. ‘These were to return 
to us again in six days, with a further supply of ice. We promised to 
have a beacon-fire burning on the sixth day. 

We were now cut off from the world. I felt like a king in his own 
country, in his own capital. No one else on earth knew of the existence 
of this place. But I had to make good use of my time. First I 


322 MYCE BER OAS ANB AEP OR ER 


located the place astronomically. Then I drew plans of the nineteen 
houses near our camp. I offered a tempting reward to the first man 
who discovered human writing in any form. But they found only 
scraps of blankets, pieces of red cloth, brown human hair, boot-soles, 
fragments of skeletons of domestic animals, pieces of rope, an earring, 
Chinese coins, chips of earthenware, and other odds and ends. 
Nearly all the houses had been built of wood, the walls of bunched 
osiers or clay-covered wicker. In three places the door-frames still 
remained upright. One door actually stood wide open, just as it must 


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BUDDHAS CARVED IN WOOD, FORMERLY DECORATING A TEMPLE IN 
LOU-LAN 


have been left by the last inhabitant of this ancient city, more than 
fifteen hundred years ago. 

Shagdur succeeded in finding the place which Ordek had discovered 
the year before, when he went back for the shovel. There we came 
upon the remains of a Buddhist temple. This, in its day, must have | 
presented a charming sight. Originally the town was situated on the 
old Lop-nor, which, because of the altered course of the Kuruk-daria, 
had since moved south. No doubt the temple stood in a park, with 


TAP ROW Gilt a Eee GO Br DES Bak T 323 


wide waters extending to the south. Houses, towers, walls, gardens, 
roads, caravans, and pedestrians were then to be seen everywhere. Now 
it wa8 the habitat of death and silence. 

Our excavations yielded the frame of a standing image of Buddha, 
three and a half feet high; horizontal friezes, with seated Buddhas, 
and vertical wooden posts, with standing Buddhas artistically carved 
thereon; lotus flowers and other flower ornaments; also sections of 
breast-works, all carved in wood and very well preserved. It was Shagdur 
who finally found a small wooden board with inscriptions (Karoshti, 
India), and won the prize. A similar amount was promised for the 


THE REMAINS OF A HOUSE, IN LOU-LAN, ABOUT 1,650 YEARS OLD 


next discovery. My men worked as long as there was a trace of day- 
light on the waste land. 

The days went by. Dawn found us already at work. We made 
excavations in every house. At last there remained only one house, of 
sun-dried clay, in the shape of a stable, with three cribs opening out- 
ward. Mollah found a slip of paper, with Chinese ideographs, in the 
crib on the extreme right; and he got the reward. ‘The paper lay two 
feet deep under sand and dust. We dug deeper and sifted the sand and 
dust between our fingers. One piece of paper after another was brought 
to light, thirty-six in all, every one of which bore writing. We also dis- 


324 MY (LITE AS) AN GE xPD ORR 


covered a hundred and twenty-one small wooden staffs, covered with 
inscriptions. Aside from these ancient documents, we found only some 
rags, fish-bones, a few grains of wheat and rice, and a small fragment 
of rug, with a swastika design and colours still quite clear. For all I 
knew, it may have been the oldest rug in the world. The whole 
collection looked like a rubbish-heap. Yet I had a feeling that those 
leaves contained a slight contribution to the history of the world. We 
found nothing in the other two cribs. 

March 9g, our last day, was due. I completed the plans and measure- 
ments of the houses, and examined a clay tower, finding it solid. We 
found two hair-pencils such as the Chinese write with to this day; an 
unbroken earthenware pot, two and a third feet high; a smaller pot; 
and a great number of coins and small objects of various kinds. The 
tallest post still standing in a house measured 14.1 feet. 

At dusk the two men returned from the spring, with all the camels, 
and ten bags and six goatskins filled with ice. The sun sank, and 
our work in the ancient city came to an end. 


G) 


TOCSINING 3 PEKIN CH 


ome ay 


: y73 SUM=2 


PART OF THE GOBI DESERT AND EASTERN TIBET 


CRO ACE oie Rawne buF 
Lou-lan, the Sleeping Town 


T would take a whole book to describe Lou-lan and the discoveries 
I was fortunate enough to make among its ruins, but I can devote 
only a few pages to my ancient desert-town. 

Upon my return home, I handed over all the manuscripts and 
the other relics to Mr. Karl Himly, of Wiesbaden, who made the first 
report on them, stating that the name of the town was Lou-lan, and that 
it flourished in the third century a. p. After Himly’s death, the ma- 
terial was taken over by Professor A. Conrady, of Leipzig, who trans- 
lated all the documents, recently publishing a voluminous work about 
them.* 

The most ancient of the papers is a fragment from the historic 
work, Chan-Kuoh-ts’ch, and dates from the later Han dynasty 
(25-220 A. D.). The Chinese invented the manufacture of paper, in 
105 A. D. The document referred to was written between 150 and 
200 A. D., and is thus the oldest piece of paper in existence, and, conse- 
quently, the oldest handwriting on paper known, antedating by at least 
seven hundred years the handwritings on paper which Europe had 
hitherto cherished as the oldest. 

All the other documents on paper and wooden staffs date from about 
270 A.D. Many of them are dated, and we can therefore tell their age 
to a day. ‘They reveal the official and epistolary style, in China, on 
administration, commerce, reports, products, agriculture, army organi- 
zation, political and historical events, and warfare, and give a clear 
picture of life in Lou-lan, 1,650 years ago. 

The letters on paper had been folded and enclosed between two 
wooden boards, which were tied together with a string, and marked, as, 
for example, “Letter sealed by Ma Li.” 


1 Die chinesischen Handschriften und sonstigen Kleinfunde Sven Hedins in Lou-lan. 
(191 pages text, 53 full-page facsimiles of Chinese manuscripts on paper and wood, and 
a few illustrations in colour.) Lithographic Institute of the General Staff of the Swedish 
Army, Stockholm. 

325 


326 MY: LIFE? AS ANe: BoP Ors 


Letters, reports, notices, and receipts from the military administra- 
tion, the bureau of food-supplies, and the post-office were written on 
wooden staffs. Such staffs were also used as symbols of official authority. 
The finding of two hair-pencils proved that such articles were in use 
in China as early as the second century A. D. 

That the reader may form some idea of how people used to write 
in those parts, 1,650 years ago, I reproduce two of Professor Conrady’s 
translations. nae 

A private letter runs thus: “Chao Tsi says: (IT), Chao, and the 
others are (here) far away; my younger brother and my sister and the 
children are at home, and we cannot meet at will; and thus there is a 
dearth of raiment and food there. I now inform you that those at home 
have sent (a messenger) to Tien-ki Wang Heh in Nan-chou (?) to get 
permission to receive fifty bushels of grain so that they may have enough 
to eat. I beg (you) to intercede with Heh and to induce him to give 
(it) in time. I hope most respectfully for your high-minded sympathy 
and benevolence, and therefore need not use many words; (thus) says 
Chao T[si!”’ 

Written upon receiving a message of sad news: “Tsi Ch’eng 
answers: Miss Yin having been without any previous illness, the mis- 
fortune that so suddenly befell her was quite beyond expectation. I 
received the sad news and so much greater is (therefore) my deep-felt 
sympathy and regret. But a deep wound cannot be endured. What 
then can help?” 

A little leaf shows the existence of Lop-nor and of the river that 
paid tribute to it. ‘Shi Shun probably waits... (as) the Ta-choh 
Lake is of great depth (and) also the counter-current is weak. I figure 
that he will have arrived at Lou-lan about the end of the month.” 

A receipt from the Government warehouse, concerning deliveries 
of provisions, ends with these words: “In the second year of T’ai-shi 
(i. e., 266 A. D.) on the 11th of the 10th month, T’s’ang-ts’ao-shi Shen 
Chuan and Kien-ts’ang-shi Tih T’ung and K’an Hi have delivered (this 
receipt?) to Shu-shi Lin Ngo.” 

A wooden staff reads: “The military office. Concerning the roster 
of common soldiers dispatched in the 6th month of the 4th year of 
T’ai-shi (1. e., 268 A. D.), those arrived at camp in Kao-ch’ang deserted, 
dead,”’ etc. 

The collection of smaller objects that we dug out in Lou-lan con- 


LOW-LAN, THE SLEEPING >TOWN 327 


tained many coins which bridge a gap in the monetary system of the 
Wei and Tsin dynasties. One bears the date of the year 7, another 
14 A. D., years when Christ still trod the earth. 

There were also hunting-arrows, battle-arrows, and fire-arrows, ‘‘to 
which fire could be tied’’; sinking-weights of lead and stone, for fishing- 
nets; cowry shells; ear-pendants; necklaces; an antique gem, with an 
image of Hermes; glass from Syria or Rome; spoons, tweezers, and hair- 
pins of bronze; an iron chain; spoons and other wooden articles; pieces 
of silk, in various shades, for clothes; a bed-cover; a woolen rug; linen; 
shoes; etc. 

The written documents, and the objects themselves, show that the 
Lou-lan government had its warehouses, that there were an inn, a 
hospital, a post-office building, a temple, private dwellings, and huts 
where the poor people lived, huts which have as surely disappeared as 
will the modern reed huts in the Lop country. References to imports, 
particularly that of Chinese silk for local consumption, are evidence 
that the population was rather great. In the better houses, hard earthen 
floors were covered with reed mats, on which lay the precious woven rugs. 
Large clay jugs, with water for the household, stood in the yards. 
Bowls and dishes decorated with Indo-Persian lion-heads, were in use; 
also, glass from Syria, the nearest country in those days which under- 
stood the manufacture of glass. 

The educated classes possessed famous works of literature. Accord. 
ing to Conrady, a barbarian-Chinese-international mixed culture, of 
present-day character, flourished in Lou-lan; for the town was a frontier 
citadel, a gateway or barricade to ancient roads in the heart of Asia, 
principally to the great “silk road’’ between China in the east and 
Persia, India, Syria, and Rome in the west. ‘Travellers from far and 
near came there. ‘The peasants took their products there on burden- 
animals and in carts, the Government purchasing and paying for the 
goods. There the soldiers received their pay in grain, and, in its 
market-places, bought felt for their winter clothes. At times the 
city was crowded and all inns were filled. | 

The documents allude to tax-evaders and their punishment; to post- 
couriers; to Ma, the chief inspector, who proceeds on his round of duty, 
with outriders and escort; to hostile tribes of nomads; to silk-caravans, 
flying the Government banner at their head, and with sturdy Tibetan 
asses in their train; to cavalry, lancers, archers, war-chariots, apparatus 


328 MY SLDRBE (AS) AN SEROP LOR ER 


for siege and defense; to military baggage-trains; to all sorts of weapons; 
to the military high command; to a general; to a general staff-officer; 
to the inspector of war-chariots; to the inspector of military supplies; 
to the staff-surgeon and other officials. Because of Lou-lan’s signifi- 
cance and location, it was heavily garrisoned. Mention is also made 
of the officials of the civil service, the chancellor, district commissioners, 
secretaries, the mayor or city prefect, the chief of dikes, the inspector 
of agriculture, the director of posts and his four deputies, various 
administrators of warehouses and depots, chief supervisors, etc. Here 
are references to the administration of law, criminal statutes, taxation, 
domiciliary right, recruiting, passports, the barter of grain for silk 
(though there was a regular system of coinage), and to many other 
matters. 

Professor Conrady points out that the social organization and 
administration in Lou-lan, which was extraordinarily precise and 
efficient, implies a process of evolution which extended over many 
centuries—nay, thousands of years—before the third century. 

It is also plain from the Lou-lan texts that unsettled conditions 
prevailed in and about the little town. ‘They tell of serious revolts, of 
war-expeditions and battles. The structure of the Chinese dominion was 
tottering to its fall. ‘The cord around Lou-lan tightened more and 
more. ‘The “hooting of the owls,” as the war-clamour is called in one 
of the letters, came nearer and nearer. Weakened by internal party- 
strife, China finally succumbed to the barbarians, fell to pieces, and was 
ruled by its conquerors for centuries. 

Lou-lan fell in the beginning of the fourth century, a symbol of the 
fall of China itself. ‘The little ruin is, therefore, as Conrady says, a 
monument to a catastrophe of universal import. ‘The authors of the 
letters which I found have, each in his own place, contributed to the 
account of these historic events. 

But the authorities never flinched in their duty to the state, in spite 
of the ominous cloud that hung over the town. Everyone did his part. 
When the drums outside the walls sounded the call to arms, and the fires 
burned on the towers, these officials remained steadfast in their places, 
finishing their reports as if nothing unusual had happened. ‘They sent 
New Year’s greetings and letters of condolence to their friends, not 
allowing themselves to be disturbed by the impending danger. We read 
with admiration and emotion of the strength of character and the courage 


LOW-DAN,: SESE Pe PNG? TOWN 329 


with which these Chinese did their duty, and we understand how it is that 
this remarkable people could keep the control of Asia in its hands. 

And this is not fantasy or myth. It is the naked truth. ‘The 
letters, resting silently under the earth for 1,650 years have again 
delivered a message. They were written by human beings who once 
lived on earth, and whose troubles, sorrows, and joys have finally been 
brought to the light of day. 

The same realism as in Pompeii is found here in simple hand- 
writing exercises and the scribbling of children’s hands, practising the 
Matiplication-table, 2.3% .8 =="16)/9 X'9 == 81," etc: 

Conrady calls the story of the Lou-lan texts an idyll, a genre pic- 
ture seen against the mighty, stormy, dark background of the world’s 
history. 

In connection with the discovery of my first two desert-towns, I 
have already pointed out that I am no archeologist. I was fortunate, 
therefore, in being able to entrust my material to such hands as those 
of Professor Conrady. His interpretation fully proves the importance 
of the discovery of Lou-lan. Corroboration lies in the fact that after 
my discovery in 1900, and my second expedition to the town, in 1901, 
it was visited, in 1905, by Ellsworth Huntington, the American geog- 
rapher; in 1906 by Sir Aurel Stein; in 1910 by the Japanese, Dr. 
Tachibana; and again, in 1914 and 1915, by Dr. Stein. ‘The latter, 
in particular, did much to develop my discoveries during his three visits. 
It was with the help of my maps that it became at all possible for the 
travellers to find the ruins in the middle of the desert. ‘Thus Stein says 
in his great work, “‘Serindia” (Vol. I, p. 362): 

“T felt grateful, too, for Dr. Hedin’s excellent mapping, which, not- 
withstanding the difference of our route-lines and the total absence of 
guiding features, had enabled me to strike the ruins without a day’s 
loss. When, subsequently, the results of our own plane-table survey for 
these parts, checked by astronomical observations and triangulation as 
far as the mountains southwest of Cherchen, came to be completed, I 
was much gratified to find that Dr. Hedin’s position for the site differs 
from ours by only about a mile and a half in longitude, the astronomi- 
cally observed latitude being identical.”’ A reviewer in the Geographical 
Journal (Vol. XXXIX, 1912, p. 472), calls this ‘‘a real triumph of 
geographical science.” 

The reader will not fail to understand why I considered it less impor- 


330 MY LIFE (AS: AN SEXPLOR Be 


tant to reach Lhasa than to make a thorough investigation of Lou-lan, 
the city of my dreams. To this day I like to dream of its past greatness 
and its glamour in about 267, the same year in which the Goths attacked 
Athens and were driven back by Dexippos, the historian, and when the 
Roman emperor Valerian was a prisoner of the Persian king Sapor. 
I recall the marvel that not a single one of our ancient Swedish rune- 
stones is older than the fragile wooden staffs and paper fragments 
that I found in Lou-lan. When Marco Polo made his famous journey 
through Asia, in 1274, the sleeping city had already lain a thousand _ 
years unknown and forgotten in its desert. And after the great Vene- 
tian’s journey, it was to slumber six hundred and fifty years more before 
the ghosts of its past were roused to life, and their ancient documents 
and letters made to shed new light on bygone days and mysterious 
human fates. 


LOU-LAN:A LETTER 
ON PAPER &2 RECEIPTS 
ON WOOD, & AZFQ ADs 


COHASPATOE Re wx tet 
Back to High Tibet 


N March 10, in the morning, I divided the caravan into two 

sections, taking with me Shagdur, Kuchuk, Khodai Kullu, and 

Khodai Verdi, also four camels, of which one carried the 

baggage and food needed for eight days, the others bearing 

ice and reeds. Faizullah took the rest of the caravan—camels, horses, 

all the heavy luggage, and the entire find from Lou-lan—southwest 

across the desert to the Kara-koshun marshes and Abdal, where we 
were to meet. 

It was my intention to survey the desert with a levelling-rod and 
telescope, and thus map out the northern depression definitely. With 
three of my men I proceeded on foot, making my calculations. Khodai 
Verdi was to follow with the four camels, and be at hand when we made 
camp at dusk. But when we had finished our day’s work, he was missing. 
Shagdur went back to look for him. Khodai Verdi appeared during the 
night, guided by the great fire we had lit. He had lost his way and had 
been misled by Faizullah’s fire, far to the west. A fierce sand-storm 
set in the next morning, and Shagdur was missing. But as if by a 
miracle he returned about noon. 

During the following days, my levelling, often rendered difficult 
by the storms, was continued. Notwithstanding the furrows made by 
the wind, the desert was almost level. By March 15, we had made nine 
miles and descended one foot. We were approaching the Kara-koshun, 
but searched in vain for the fire that Tokta Ahun was to have kept 
going on the northern lake-shore on and after March 13. On the 
seventeenth, we reached the shore safely and encamped. We had 
fallen 2.272 metres in a distance of 8114 kilometres, or 714 feet in 
scarcely 50 miles. In this northern section of the desert I had clearly 
proved the existence of a one-time lake. It was still filled with reed- 
stubble and mollusc-shells. Lou-lan had been situated on the northern 
shore of this lake. The old Chinese maps, and Baron von Richthofen, 
who relied upon them to support his theory, were right, after all. 

331 


332 MY“ EE EAS" ACN ee Oe 


Our next task was to get in touch with Tokta Ahun and his relief- 
expedition. Our food-supply had come to an end. Kuchuk did some 
fishing, without luck; and it was Shagdur who saved us by shooting wild 
ducks every day. As soon as we had encamped, I sent Khodai Kullu 
southwest along the lake-shore to look for Tokta Ahun’s party. A 
raging storm began in the evening, and continued for three nights and 
two days. We waited all this time; but on the twentieth we started 
off southwest. 

We had not gone far when we were stopped by a mass of water, 
which had inundated the sterile desert; and we had to walk around this 
newly-created lake. “[Twice we saw Khodai Kullu’s footprints. At one 
point he had swum across an arm of the water. 

On March 23, I sent Shagdur out to search. After a while we 
espied him again in the distance. He signalled to us to come; and 
when we got there, he pointed to the southwest shouting, “Horsemen, 
horsemen!’’ ‘Two mounted men were seen galloping in a cloud of dust. 

We stopped to wait for them. Great was my surprise to see 
Chernoff, my faithful Cossack, who, the previous summer, together 
with Sirkin, had been ordered by the Governor-General of Tashkent 
to return to Kashgar, because of disturbances on the Asiatic frontier. 
His presence here was readily explained. The Governor-General had 
no right to withdraw any of the four Cossacks given me by order of the 
Czar, and so I had written in protest to the Czar himself. The 
Cossacks took the letter with them when they went to Kashgar. No 
sooner did the Czar receive my letter, than he telegraphed Consul- 
General Petrovsky to send the Cossacks Sirkin and Chernoff to my camp 
immediately. Chernoff now told me of their joy, that Saturday evening, 
when they got the order to look me up in the heart of Asia. They had 
asked for permission to stay over Sunday, but the Consul said an 
order from the Czar could not be postponed. So they saddled their 
horses and brought my post, camera, plates, and twenty-seven silver 
yambas. When at last they reached headquarters at Charkhlik, Tokta 
Ahun was already there. Islam Bai thereupon organized the relief- 
expedition, which, led by Chernoff and Tokta Ahun, was to seek me on 
the northern shore of the Kara-koshun. 

Carrying provisions, they marched in a large body along the lake- 
shore, until they were stopped by the newly-formed bodies of water. 
There they built huts and established their base of supply. A veritable 


BACK Or Crise tel B EF 333 


farmyard, with sheep and poultry, canoes and fishing-nets, enlivened 
that solitary shore. Every evening they made a huge fire on a hillock; 
but the air being hazy, we did not see its light. Khodai Kullu turned 
up suddenly, one day, half dead from hunger, having had nothing to 
eat for five days. They started off immediately with him as a guide. 

And now they had found us. It was a great joy to me to see 
Chernoff again. The men’s bags contained all the good things in the 
world, even packets of letters from my home. We were in a Chinese 
province, and yet my first news of the year-old Boxer uprising in China 
came via Stockholm. 

On we went together toward Abdal, crossing the trail of Faizullah’s 
caravan, and finding a dead horse, whose meat he and his men had 
doubtless eaten, when their provisions gave out. From Abdal it was 
only a three days’ march to Charkhlik, our new headquarters. 

Now came a period of work and preparation. We hired a pleasant 
caravansary, with a garden, where my yurt was pitched under mulberry- 
trees and plum-trees. A tame deer strolled about there, a gift from 
the governor, Jan Daloy. Whole rows of horses and mules stood at the 
stable-cribs; and I bought twenty-one new camels to add to the eighteen 
we had before. But three of the new ones were cubs, the youngest 
one being only a few days old and hardly able to stand on his feet. He 
became everyone’s favourite; and when he died, in Tibet, his two 
comrades had long since departed. 

We purchased stores to last ten months—rice, flour, and toasted 
flour. The bags were arranged on light pack-ladders, which were easy 
to attach to the camels’ pack-saddles. We bought an adequate supply 
of furs for the men and felt mats for the camels. 

I developed a great many photographic plates and wrote letters. 
The longest one, to my parents, covered two hundred and sixteen 
pages. I wrote also to the King, the Czar, Nordenskidld (who re- 
ceived my letter a few days before his death), and Lord Curzon, Vice- 
roy of India. All my specimens were packed in cases—the discoveries 
from Lou-lan, skeletons, minerals, plants, etc. This material made up 
eight heavy camel-loads. I sent them to Kashgar by Islam Bai and 
Faizullah. They left on May 5, enveloped in a howling sand-storm. 

A few days later, the main caravan departed, in command of Cher- 
noff and Turdu Bai. They had about twenty-five men. Going by way 
of Abdal, where they were to buy fifty sheep, they would take the most 


334 M Yor DEB YA'S tA NEVE Xe Te ore 


comfortable road to the western shore of the Ayag-kum-kol. It was my 
largest caravan so far, and it looked quite imposing, as it wended its 
way from Charkhlik, to the sound of tinkling bells. Only one-fifth of 
this caravan reached Ladak alive, and not a single one of the animals 
was with us when we finally reached Kashgar. 

From Dovlet, a caravan-man from Bokhara, we hired seventy 
mules, which, laden with maize for our caravan-animals, were to follow 
Turdu Bai’s section, and return in two months, by which time most of 
the maize would be eaten.. He left with ten men, and took a short- 
cut toward the mountains. 

Thus I was fully occupied during the rest-period. Visitors arrived 
continually, not the least of them being the sellers of live-stock and 
provisions. One little gentleman, who often came to see me in my yurt, 
was the six-year-old son of Jan Daloy, a charming child, polite and 
well-mannered, as Chinese etiquette required. He presented me with 
sweetmeats, and my saddle-horse with clover. I learned with pain and 
regret, one evening, that he had died of smallpox the day before his 
grieved father returned from an official trip. 

Our large caravans having left, only Sirkin, Li Loye, and Mollah 
Shah remained with me; and only twelve of our horses were in the yard. 
Eight dogs had gone with the caravans, but Yoldash stayed with me. 
Our yard, so recently the scene of life and commotion, now looked 
empty and deserted. 

Soon after our arrival in Charkhlik, I charged Shagdur and Cherdon, 
the two Buriat Cossacks of Mongol descent, with an important commis- 
sion. They were to ride to Kara-shahr and buy a complete outfit of 
clothes, furs, caps, boots, packing-cases, cooking-utensils, jugs, etc., all 
genuine Mongol products, in quantities sufficient for four men. These 
articles were designed for my intended journey, in disguise, to Lhasa. 
They were also to engage a lama who spoke Tibetan, one who could 
interpret for us. I looked for their return within a month. 

They performed their task beyond my expectations; and Shagdur 
returned half of the money as not being needed. On May 14, they 
arrived with the entire Mongol outfit, and with Shereb Lama, of Urga, 
twenty-seven years old, in the red robe of a lama, with a yellow girdle 
anda Chinese cap. We became friends right off, and began immediately 
with lessons in the Mongol language, which, in the interim, I had 


BiG DOVE PG Ae Bor LP 3053 


forgotten. The lama had described the wonders of Lhasa to Shagdur. 
He had studied in that city and was desirous of returning there. 

Shagdur also brought our friend Ordek, who begged to accompany 
me to Tibet. Cherdon was to join the large caravan speedily. 

On May 17, we were ready to depart. A group of ten Mongol 
pilgrims, from Tarbagatai, had arrived at Charkhlik the day before. 
They were headed for Lhasa, and became suspicious on learning that 
we, too, were on our way to the high mountains. Like the pilgrims 
of the year before, these, too, were destined to work us harm. Now, 
just as I was setting out with Sirkin, Shagdur, Mollah Shah, Li Loye, 
Shereb Lama, a guide, twelve horses, and ten mules bearing maize, the 
pilgrims were there, following us with their eyes. 

We rode up through the Charkhlik-su valley—a road hitherto 
untravelled by me—left the glowing summer of East Turkestan behind 
us, crossed a difficult pass, and were soon again on the Tibetan table- ‘ 
land, where we were received by shy, wild asses, frost and falling snow. 
In one valley we met eighteen shepherds, from whom we purchased 
twelve sheep. At that point we hired new guides. 

During a day of rest, I confided to Shereb Lama my plans to reach 
Lhasa. He was greatly amazed, and declared that a lama who took 
a European to Lhasa would be decapitated. He would never have 
joined us had Shagdur told him all the facts in Kara-shahr. I told 
him I had cautioned Shagdur not to reveal anything of my plans, which 
had to be kept secret. We discussed the matter, not only for hours, 
but the entire day, and in the end Shereb Lama agreed to go along to 
the Ayag-kum-kol. From there he might return to Kara-shahr, if he 
so wished. He was to tell me of his decision when we got to the large 
salt-lake; and, in any case, he was perfectly free. 

On June 1, we reached the left shore of the Ayag-kum-kol, where 
we spent a few days waiting for our large caravans, which, their route 
being much longer than ours, had not yet been heard from. On June 
4, Shereb Lama sighted something that looked like a huge caravan, in 
six divisions, at the foot of the mountain in the northeast. He was 
right. The dark lines slowly grew larger. First, the two Cossacks 
came to report that all was well. ‘Then the asses trudged to the camp, 
and the bronze camel-bells were heard in the distance. Afterwards, 
Dovlet from Bokhara appeared, with his seventy maize-mules. A wild 
ass happened to join them; but he discovered his mistake in time, 


336 MY “LIFE (AS ANY EP Om ton 


and dived like an arrow into the interior of the desert. The horses 
and the fifty sheep brought up the rear. The bell-wether, a ram called 
Vanka, from Kucha, was the only one of the flock that entered Kashgar 
with me a year later. The other sheep would follow Vanka, and he 
displayed an authority and assurance unusual in a sheep. 

Our camp presented a splendid sight, especially at night, with the 
fires blazing on the shore. ‘The superfluous men were sent back; for the 
fewer mouths there were, the longer the food would last. But a 
sufficient number remained to give colour and variety to the camp-life. 
The Mohammedans were in the majority. Mingled with them were 
Buriat and Orthodox Cossacks, and a lama in a bright-red robe. 
Among the animals, the three young camels and Vanka attracted most 
attention. ‘The deer died, and we kept his skeleton. In Charkhlik 
we purchased the beautiful large camel that I had had, in 1896, on our 
journey along the course of the Keriya-daria. He was my particular 
favourite, the ranking veteran. 

Once assembled and off to the south, our train looked like a small 
invading army. Each man had his job, and the Cossacks maintained 
excellent discipline. The camps were pitched according to a fixed plan, 
exactly as in the days of Xenophon. The camels’ loads were deposited 
in long rows, and next to them Turdu Bai and his men had their tents. 
Nearby was the kitchen-tent where Cherdon prepared my meals. 
Sirkin, Shagdur, and Shereb Lama shared a small yurt. The last named, 
a doctor of theology, had no other duty than to be my teacher; yet 
he always did more than his share, whenever there was need for it. 
Chernoff and Cherdon lived in a small tent, next to my own, which, 
at the extreme end of one flank, was policed by Yoldash and Yolbars. 
Shereb Lama made up his mind at the Ayag-kum-kol. He declared 
himself willing to go with me to the end of the world. 

Again we approached the Arka-tagh, passing over wet and slippery 
ground that sapped the strength of the animals. Two of the camels 
were exhausted; and one, refusing to go further, was left behind, alive, 
in a grassy place. Dovlet of Bokhara was to have him, in case the 
animal should still be alive when the asses went back. But the out- 
look was not a bright one. One day, nine asses collapsed; another day, 
thirteen. 

One evening, we encamped at the gate of a valley, covered by a thick 


BA OR Ove LG el B ET a37, 


layer of ice. When camp was made, Chernoff pointed in the direction 
of the ice-floor, and said: “‘A bear is heading straight for the camp.” 
We tied all of the dogs. Bruin trotted slowly across the ice. He 
looked old and tired. He stopped to rest a few times; then he walked 
to the edge of the ice, straight towards death. The Cossacks were 
lying in wait. Three shots were fired. The bear made off, galloping 
past the tents and up a slope. Two more shots, and he rolled down 
to the bottom. We kept his skeleton, too. He had big cavities in his 
teeth, and must have suffered terribly with toothache. His stomach 
contained a marmot, which he had eaten, skin and all. Rolling the 


of Ss 


ws Pe Ns ‘ 


———— 


AN OLD BEAR HEADING FOR OUR CAMP 


skin into a ball, with the hair inside, he had swallowed it at a single 
gulp. 

The next days were terrible. We constantly sent men in advance 
to reconnoitre. The pasturage was miserable. We were battered by 
hail and snow, and were driven across the highland by westerly storms. 
One camel, otherwise satisfactory, had the bad habit of flatly refusing to 
ascend steep slopes. We called him the ‘‘Pass-Hater.’’ Even when 
the men united to push him uphill, he remained immovable. He delayed 
the whole train, and finally had to be left behind. 

I now told Dovlet of Bokhara to go back with the surviving asses. 


338 MOY! LER E UAS vAN “BD XPS ORE 


We allowed them liberal rations, in order to lighten the burdens of 
our animals. 

Five of our camels had dropped out by the time we reached the 
desolate valley that rises to a pass of the Arka-tagh, more than 17,000 
feet above sea-level. And on the way up to the pass, a most violent 
tempest burst upon us. First there was a rattling hail, then came blind- 
ing, whirling snow. I could see nothing but the nearest camel plodding 
ahead of me. Time and again the ghastly call was heard, “A camel 
is exhausted!’’ and we could see him, with his groom, looming behind, 
like a spectre in the whirling snow. 

I rode to the top of the pass with Shereb Lama. At last the 
heavy, slow train came dragging along. We waited till all passed by; 
but of the thirty-four camels, only thirty reached the top. The rest 
were either worn out, had died or had been killed. 

As a result of these casualties, the animals’ burdens again became 
too heavy. ‘They were accordingly given as much maize as they could 
eat. The two young camels were fed on white bread. ‘There was 
always some sickness among the men. I gave them quinine, and they 
recovered immediately. The medicine-chest was in requisition at every 
camp. It is not easy to travel in High Tibet; it is not a flower-strewn 
pathway. 

On June 26, we camped cn the very spot that we had occupied the 
year before, on the shore of a lake. Charred wood from our fire 
was still there. The ice had not yet broken up; but at noon it was 
68°, and a lovely summer breeze swept the ice-covered lake. 

We ascended a pass, 17,500 feet high, in a region of brick-red, 
weathered sandstone. By the time we got to the top, all the men 
were dead-tired and dropped to the ground. Everything was red— 
mountains, hillocks, valleys—and Shereb Lama, in his red robe, 
harmonized with the red background. At a pool, Yoldash overtook 
a female antelope and her calf, and killed the latter. I asked Sirkin 
to shoot the mother, so as to put an end to her misery. But she 
escaped. Hunting was permitted by me only for the sake of meat. 
The Cossacks had only a hundred and forty-two cartridges left; hence 
the need for economizing ammunition. In the evening a fog lay over 
the highland. The full moon shed a yellow light on the black clouds. 

We traversed the valley where, far to the east, Aldat slept under 
his mound. Then we crossed a high pass, and after that, for several 


BACK 4HOVRDGH “Ci BE T 339 


days, we were in open country. Every evening I would call at Sirkin’s 
tent to check up the meteorological readings and to try on the Mongolian 
attire that Shereb Lama and Shagdur were making for me. Shereb 
Lama drew a plan of Lhasa, and showed me the location of the various 
monasteries. The leaders of our different caravans also came to that 
tent for orders concerning the next day’s journey. Our tired animals 
rarely could make more than twelve miles. 

The veteran from the Keriya-daria was exhausted; and he wept, 
which was a sure sign of approaching death. He stood on shaking 
legs when I took a last picture of him, and threw a philosophically 
indifferent glance over the land that would soon claim his life. 

On July 8, only twenty-seven camels were able to reach camp. I 
picked out eleven of the weakest, and also six horses. They were 
to be led in our rear, slowly and cautiously, in charge of Chernoff and 
five Mohammedans. With the rest of the caravan I continued south. 
Wild leeks grew abundant here, to the satisfaction of all, the camels in 
particular. The rainy season had set in. It poured steadily; and the 
dripping and streaming from the animals, loads, and tents made every- 
thing heavier, while at the same time making the ground as soft as a 
marsh. At one camp, where the water was salty, Shagdur took a jug 
in search of water, and was attacked by a wolf. He hurled the jug 
at the wolf, and returned to the camp, much upset, to fetch his rifle. 
But the wolf escaped. 

We took a fine old yak by surprise, in a broad glen. The dogs 
attacked him. He lifted his tail in the air, planted his horns in the 
ground, and made for his assailants, now for one, now for another. 
I forbade the Cossacks to shoot him. But then Turdu Bai pronounced 
the death-sentence. He needed meat, and we had to save the last six 
sheep. 

On another occasion, Yoldash started a hare, which took refuge 
in its hole, but not deep enough to prevent Shagdur from pulling the 
poor creature out with his hand. 

‘Hold on to Yoldash, and let go of the hare,” I shouted. The hare 
made off like an arrow, but had not gone a hundred yards, when a 
falcon swooped down upon him. We hurried to his assistance, but were 
too late. His eyes were already plucked out, and he lay in death- 
convulsions. 

At our camp of July 16, next to a brook, a yellowish-grey wolf paid 


340 MY LIFE AS “AN VEXPLDORER 


for his boldness with his life. A bear, too, came splashing across the 
brook, and was chased by the Cossacks. ‘They returned in an hour. 
The bear had escaped, but they themselves had ridden straight into 
a Tibetan camp. ‘There were three yak-hunters there, with horses 
and rifles. The Cossacks returned to fetch Shereb Lama, the only 
one of us who could speak Tibetan. [I sent him and Shagdur to the 
place. But the Tibetans had gone. The rumour of our approach 
would now pass from mouth to mouth to Lhasa, which was still 
three hundred and thirty miles away. ‘The nomads and hunters knew 
that a reward awaited him who warned the authorities of approaching 
Europeans. We gave up all thought of pursuing the three men. We 
would have gained nothing thereby, and our animals were too worn 
out. Shereb Lama, perceiving that discovery was now very likely, 
became anxious. 

Next day we left an exhausted camel behind in a field where the 
grazing was good. In an empty tin, fastened to a tent-pole, I placed 
a written order to search for the camel, if it was not to be seen. But 
as it happened, Chernoff and the rear-guard made a detour at this place 
and saw neither camel nor can. Hence we remained ignorant of the 
abandoned animal’s fate. 

On July 20, we crossed an immense snowy range, where three 
hundred yaks were wandering on the edge of a glacier. ‘he ground was 
dotted with them. On the other side, in a valley, there were seven 
yaks, which the dogs routed. All fled but one, and so the dogs 
concentrated their attack on him. He walked quite unperturbed, and 
planted himself in the valley-brook, the water coursing around him, the 
baffled dogs on the shore, barking. 

A partridge lay motionless in a field, sparsely covered with grass, 
where we intended to camp. One of the Cossacks shot at it. She 
started up, but fell dead, while the three little chicks she had been 
keeping warm ran about unhurt, looking for their mother. The destruc- 
tion of such earthly happiness was like murder. The deed pained me 
for a long time. I would willingly have surrendered my partridge- 
dinner, if I could have granted life to the unfortunate family. I tried 
to console myself with the thought that I myself was not a hunter. 

Pouring rain, marshy ground, quicksand! Detestable! Again we 
had to negotiate a muddy range. Two tired camels were being led 
behind. One of them reached our camp. ‘The other sank so badly 


BA CRT Oh UG rect Paik T 341 


into the mud at the top of the pass, that every effort to pull him out 
failed. A few of the men stayed with him through the night, hoping 
that rescue might be more feasible when the ground had frozen. But 
during the night he sank in deeper and deeper, and when morning 
came he was dead. Quicksand is the greatest difficulty to be overcome 
in northern Tibet. But this was the only time that one of my camels 
literally sank into the mud. It is a hard way, this one through northern 
Tibet, a veritable via dolorosa. 

During our march, on July 24, we caught sight of better pasturage, 
in a distant valley, than we had seen for many days. We directed 
our steps thither and made camp. It was the last occasion, for some 
time, on which I had the company of the caravan. 


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THE DASH FOR LHASA 


CHAPTER i XL ULI 
Toward Lhasa Disguised as a Pilgrim 


UR new headquarters, 16,800 feet high, was designated Num- 

ber 44. From there we were to start our wild ride toward 

Lhasa. I had intended to rest a week, for the sake of the 

animals, but Sirkin having noticed, near by, fresh footprints 

of a man leading a horse, I decided to break camp immediately. Were 

we already being watched? I also decided that only Shereb Lama and 

Shagdur should accompany me. This was hard on Cherdon, who, too, 

was of the Lamaist faith; but our headquarters needed every possible 
defense in case the Tibetans should use armed force against us. 

We were three Buriat pilgrims, bound for Lhasa. Our caravan 
was to be as light and mobile as possible, only five mules and four 
horses, all newly shod for the trip. Rice, flour, toasted flour, dried 
meat, and Chinese brick tea constituted our provisions. My Mongolian 
cloak, ox-blood red, had secret pockets for my aneroid, compass, watch, 
note-book, and a book in which I sketched a map of the route. In my 
left boot was a pocket for the thermometer. I also took shaving-utensils, 
a lantern, some candles, matches, an axe, Mongolian pots and pans, and 
ten silver yambas. Two Mongolian leather cases held most of these 
things. I wore a Chinese skull-cap, with ear-laps, and round my neck | 
a rosary, with one hundred and eight beads, and a copper case contain- 
ing an image of Buddha. A dagger, chop-sticks, a fire-steel, etc., hung 
in my girdle. We also had furs and blankets of Mongolian make, but 
no beds. The smallest of our tents was to shelter us. 

On the last evening I addressed the men. Sirkin was appointed 
commander of headquarters, and received the keys to the boxes of 
silver. If we were not back within two and a half months, he was to 
return to Charkhlik and Kashgar with the whole caravan. ‘Twenty 
ravens circled round our tents. Night came and we went to bed. 

At sunrise, on July 27, Shagdur roused me. I shall never forget 
that day. Off for Lhasa! Whether we succeeded or not, the experience 
would be something extraordinary. If successful, we would see the 

342 


Bebo Gr Wilss Ee Di Are ne rl Ts <3 RT av 343 


Holy City, unvisited by Europeans since Huc and Gabet, two French 
abbés, had spent two months there, in 1847, or fifty-four years before. 
And if we failed, we would be entirely at the mercy of the Tibetans, 
becoming their prisoners, with no inkling of how that captivity might 
-end. However, when Shagdur woke me, I rose eagerly to the great 
adventure; and in less than a quarter of an hour, I was a thorough 
Mongol, from head to foot. 

At the last moment, it was decided that Ordek should accompany 
us for a day or two, in order to guard our animals at the camp, and 
thus allow us a good sleep before our night-vigils began. I rode my 
white horse, Shagdur his yellow one, Shereb Lama the smallest mule, and 
Ordek one of the other horses. Malenki and Yolbars were to go along. 
Yolbars had once been lacerated by a boar; he was the largest and the 
wildest of our dogs. 

When everything was ready, and we were already in the saddle, 
I asked Shereb Lama if he preferred to stay at headquarters. 

“No, never!’’ was his answer. 

We said our farewells. ‘Those we left behind thought that they 
would never see us again. Sirkin turned away and wept. It was a 
solemn moment; but, secure in the protection of the Eternal, my calm 
was unshaken. 

We went down the valley at great speed. Hunters had recently 
been camping on the shore of its stream. ‘The skeleton of a yak lay 
there. A bear had been foraging about. We rode southeastwards. 
At an open spring we made our camp. ‘The animals were released to 
graze, and Ordek tended them. We gave our blessing to the moon that 
illuminated the silent wilderness, but went early to sleep in the narrow 
tent. 

On the second day, we rode twenty-four miles across fairly level 
ground, as far as two small lakes, one of them salt, the other of fresh 
water. Tent was pitched on the narrow strip of land between the 
lakes. It was a lovely evening. Seated outdoors before the fire, I 
underwent treatment by Shagdur and Shereb Lama. The former 
shaved my head, and even my moustache, till I was as smooth as a 
billiard-ball; the latter rubbed a mixture of fat, soot, and brown 
pigment into me. I became almost frightened at the sight of myself in 
my polished watchcase, my only mirror. We were in high spirits, laugh- 
ing and chatting like schoolboys. 


344 MY! LIF EVAS AN WE XP IO RoR 


We ate and had tea by the fire, and went to rest early. The animals 
were grazing on the shore, two hundred paces away. Ordek watched 
over them. In the evening a storm blew up. At midnight Ordek put 
his head inside the tent, and said: ‘“There is a man.”’ 

We rushed out with the two rifles and revolver that constituted our 
arsenal. The tempest howled. ‘The moon spread a pale light amid 
dark, flying clouds. On a small hill to the southwest, we perceived 
two galloping horsemen, urging two free horses before them. Shagdur 
directed a few shots at them, but they disappeared in the dark. 

What was to be done? First we counted our animals. There were 
seven of them. My white horse and Shagdur’s yellow one were missing. 


ATTACKED BY ROBBERS, WHO STOLE TWO OF OUR BEST HORSES 


It was evident from the footprints that one of the thieves had stolen 
upon the outermost horses and frightened them down to the shore, where 
two mounted Tibetans had taken them in charge. ‘They had been lying 
in wait for us like wolves, and were assisted by the storm. I was furious 
at this skulking attack, and my first impulse was to pursue them night 
and day. But could we leave our camp and the rest of the animals? 
Perhaps we were surrounded by a whole band of robbers. We lit the 
fire, and our pipes, and sat in conversation until dawn. Peace was 
gone. Our hands were on our daggers. Sunrise found Ordek weeping. 


DISGUISED AS A PILGRIM 345 


He was to go back to headquarters alone. On a leaf torn from my 
note-book, I wrote Sirkin to strengthen the guard. 

Afterwards we learned that Ordek had arrived half dead at head- 
quarters. He had sneaked like a cat in hollows and river-beds, taking 
every shadow for a robber, and two docile wild asses for hostile horse- 
men. And when at last he reached the camp, he came near being shot 
by the guard. When the others heard that we had been attacked by 
robbers, after only two days’ journey, their fears grew, and they were 
convinced we would never come back alive. 

We continued southeast; and the lone Ordek, after helping us load 
the beasts, disappeared. We came upon a huge herd of yaks on a 
plain. Werethey tame? No; they fled. We pitched our tent in open 
terrain, and I gathered yak-droppings for the fire. From this moment 
on, not a word of Russian was to be spoken, only Mongolian. Shagdur 
was ordered to act the part of our leader. I was his servant, and he 
was to treat me as a servant in the presence of Tibetans. 

I slept till eight o’clock in the evening. Then Shagdur and Shereb 
Lama came driving our seven animals up to the tent. They were in a 
serious mood; for they had seen three Tibetan horsemen, who were 
on the lookout. ‘The animals were immediately tethered in the lee of 
the tent, the entrance of which was open. Yolbars was tied beyond 
the animals, and Malenki to windward of the tent. The night was 
divided into three watches. Mine was the first, from nine o’clock to 
twelve; Shagdur’s the second, from twelve to three; and Shereb Lama’s 
the last, to six o’clock. 

Thus my two comrades went to sleep while I stood watch. I 
walked from Yolbars to Malenki, and back, and alternated between 
playing with them and stroking the exhausted horses and mules. At 
nine-thirty an infernal storm broke—coal-black clouds, lightning and 
thunder, and a rattling, pouring rain. I took refuge in the entrance 
to the tent. The rain battered the canvas, and a fine drizzle sifted 
through. I lit my pipe and the candle in the lantern, and took out my 
note-book. But every ten minutes I patrolled the space between the 
dogs. The rain splashed dully and monotonously. It ran in jets from 
the animals’ manes and tails, and from the pack-saddles. It ran from 
my skin-coat. ‘The Chinese cap stuck to my bald head like glue. 

I heard a plaintive sound in the distance, and hurried out. “Oh,” 
thought I, “that is only Yolbars, expressing anger at the rain.’ My 


346 NEY “iE BA ASS. GANG PAS oer 


eyelids grew heavy. A thunderbolt roused me. The dogs growled, 
and I went out again. There was a clacking and swishing, as I trod in 
the mud. The hours seemed endless. Would my spell never come to 
an end? But at last the midnight-hour struck. I was just about to 
wake Shagdur, when the two dogs began to bark furiously. Shereb 
Lama woke up and rushed out. We took our arms, and all three of us 
stole away to leeward. The tramping of horses was audible. There 
were horsemen near by, and we hurried in their direction. But then 
they disappeared, and again all was quiet. The rain beat the ground. 
I lay down in my wet clothes. For a while, I heard the splashing steps 
of Shagdur in the wet; but then I fell sound asleep. 


RIDING THROUGH THE POURING RAIN 


We broke camp at daybreak, crossed a ridge of the pass, entered 
a beaten path, saw many old camping-places, but no people, and halted 
again on a strip of land between two small lakes. As soon as camp 
was made, two of us lay down to sleep. We tethered the animals 
as on the night before, and I began my watch. Merciless rain fell all 
night long. One mule tore herself loose, and trotted off to the pas- 
turage. I followed. At least she kept me awake. After many vain 
attempts, I managed to seize her halter, and tied her up. 

On July 31, we set out in a pouring rain. It made us and our 


DISGUISED AS A’ PILGRIM 347 


animals glisten. It dripped and spouted in streams. The road became 
wider. No doubt it led to Lhasa. We followed the trail of a large 
yak-caravan across five small passes. The yak-caravan was encamped 
on the roadside. Shereb Lama went up tothem. The travellers were 
Tanguts from Kum-bum on their way to Lhasa. They questioned 
Shereb Lama about us and our errand. Meanwhile, our dogs and 
theirs began to fight. I felt sorry for the dogs that got into a scuffle 
with Yolbars. 

A little further on, we encamped in a glen, quite close to a Tibetan 
tent, where a young man and two women were living. The owner 
came home soon. We invited him to our tent, and he gave us an arm- 
ful of yak-droppings and a wooden vessel, with milk. His name was 
Sampo Singi, and the place was Gom-jima. Sampo Singi was black 
with dirt, bareheaded, had long hair, no trousers, yet sat down, right 
in the wet, outside the tent. He took snuff offered by Shereb Lama, 
and after sneezing about a hundred times asked whether there used to 
be pepper in our snuff. He thought it was nice of us, who lived so far 
away, to make a pilgrimage to Lhasa. We were still eight days distant 
from there. 

All of a sudden Shagdur roared at me to drive our animals in, and 
I obeyed straightway. The sun went down and the moon peeped out. 
But during the night it poured again. I felt secure in the vicinity of 
the nomads. 

The next morning, Sampo Singi and one of the women brought 
us sheep-fat, sour and sweet milk, cheese-powder and cream, and a 
sheep. He would not accept money; but we had a piece of blue Chinese 
silk, over which the woman nearly went crazy. The man killed the 
sheep by choking it; he wound a strap around its nose, and thrust his 
thumb and index-finger in its nostrils. ‘Then he slaughtered it. We 
allowed him to retain the skin. Thereupon we took leave of the kind 
nomads, threw ourselves into our saddles, and rode on. 

At the same moment the rain began again. It poured from the 
sky in jets, and it was like riding through dense clusters of glass. A 
big body of water was dimly seen through the mist. At first we be- 
lieved it to be a lake; but upon reaching the shore, we found a gigantic 
river, the yellow-grey, thick, muddy water-masses of which rolled south- 
- west with a hollow and sinister roar. I knew at once that it was the 
Sachu-tsangpo, which Bonvalet and Rockhill had once crossed. The 


348 MY LIFE AS AN “EXPLORER 


opposite (left) bank was not visible at all. The road to Lhasa had 
taken us down to the right bank. But where was the ford? Before 
one could say Jack Robinson, Shereb Lama led the way into the river, 
leading the pack-mules. Shagdur and I followed. 

In the middle of the river we halted for a minute on a sand-bank, 
in water about a foot deep. From there, neither the right nor the left 
bank could be seen. The water rolled by in great volume, seething and 
rumbling. Owing to the constant rain, the river was rising rapidly. If 
we stayed too long, we risked being cut off in both directions. Shereb 
Lama went on. It began to look bad when the water rose above the 


CROSSING A BIG RIVER IN POURING RAIN 


root of his little mule’s tail. And now one of the pack-mules slipped. 
The two Mongol boxes tied to her back acted as cork-cushions and 
kept her afloat. The swift current swept her along at breakneck speed. 
I thought she was lost. Only her head and the edges of the boxes 
were visible above the water. She swam, however, and after a while 
touched ground again. Far away she righted herself and scrambled 
up on the left bank. 

Lama rode on alone. The water got deeper and deeper. We 
called out to him at the top of our lungs; but he continued, bold and 
fearless. The rain beat the river; all was water. I rode last, and 


DISGUISED AS A PILGRIM 349° 


my horse fell behind. I saw the other two, and the pack-animals, 
rising above the surface of the water. I had a glimpse of the left 
shore. They managed to make it safely. I dug my heels into my 
horse. But we happened to strike a little below the ford, and sank 
deeper and deeper. I felt dizzy, as the water filled my boots. Pres- 
ently it rose above my knees and the saddle. I loosened my girdle and 
pulled off my skin coat. Lama and Shagdur shouted and pointed; 
but in the roar of the water I did not hear them. Now it reached 
my waist. Now I saw no more of my horse than his head and neck. 
I prepared to throw myself from the saddle and let go of the horse. 
But at that very moment he began to swim. Involuntarily I grasped 
his mane. He was carried along by the current, and almost choked. 
But the next moment he touched bottom, got his footing, and heaved 
himself onto the shore. J never experienced a worse river-crossing in 
Asia. It was nothing less than a miracle that no one was drowned. 
Neither Shagdur nor Shereb Lama could swim. 

Our little caravan looked tragi-comic in the teeming rain. Lama, 
who always led the way, continued as though the river had not existed. 
I pulled off my boots, poured the water out, and hung them behind 
my saddle. It rained heavily, and everything was soaking-wet. The 
water streamed out of the two boxes. 

At last our honourable monk stopped in a field, where there were 
yak-droppings. By scraping away the wettest layer, we managed after 
much trouble to ignite the cakes. And when the fire was burning 
properly, in spite of the rain sizzling in the flames, I undressed, bit 
by bit, and wrung the water out of my Mongolian clothes. Had any 
Tibetans happened by, they would have been dumbfounded at the sight 
of my white body. 

Night came, with its cloak of darkness, its rattling rain, and its 
mysterious sounds. I heard steps, the tramp of horses, human voices, 
shouts, and rifle-shots. I waked Shagdur at twelve o'clock sharp, 
slipped into the tent, and lay down in my still-wet clothes. I was so 
tired that I almost longed to be captured and get a thorough rest. 

On August 2, it did not rain. We entered populated regions. We 
rode past two nomad-tents, where there were sheep and yaks, and 
passed a caravan of three hundred yaks, laden with brick tea for the 
famous Tashi-lunpo monastery. The drivers built their fires close to 
the roadside; and as we rode past, the men approached us, asking 


350 MEY SED RE AS cAUN EE Ronn 


many questions. One old man pointed at me and said, “‘peling”’ (Euro- 
pean). The region was called Amdo-mochu. 

We proceeded to a spring and a field, and spread our clothes out on 
the ground in the evening sun. But then came a hail-storm and a 
downpour, and we stowed everything in the tent. The thunder pealed 
with a ringing sound, strangely reminiscent of church-bells. 

The next morning I enjoyed a complete rest. I was waked at nine 
o’clock by the other two, who advised me to take a look at the tea- 
caravan. It was really amusing. The men were all afoot, their rifles 
on their shoulders. They looked like robbers, every one of them black, 
men as well as yaks. They whistled, shouted, and sang. 

We stayed there all day to get dry. I filled my boots with warm, dry 


THE GREAT TEA CARAVAN. EVERYTHING WAS BLACK, THE MEN, THE YAKS, 
THE RIFLES 


sand, to get the moisture out of them. While the animals grazed, we 
took turns in sleeping. The night was clear, the moon was up, and 
the stars twinkled. | 

The fourth of August saw us on the main road to Lhasa. We 
were constantly passing nomads’ tents and herds, meeting large cara- 
vans, and riding past others. And now we also passed cairns of holy 
mani stones. We stopped for the night, and a young Tibetan dropped 
in to see us. 


DISGUISED AS A PILGRIM 351 


On the fifth, we rode twenty and a half miles, brushing past the 
Tso-nek (the Black Lake), where tents and herds were numerous, 
till at last we reached a plain, on which there were twelve tents. There 
we established our Camp No. 53, having covered one hundred and sixty- 
two miles since leaving headquarters. 


A PLASTIC REPRESENTATION OF THE MOUNTAIN SYSTEMS OF TIBET 


CH AGP. BoB OR Scie a 


A Prisoner of the Tibetans 


AN dusk, three Tibetans came walking toward our tent, and Shereb 


Lama and Shagdur went out to meet them. They conversed 

for a long time, and it was dark in every sense when my two 

comrades returned. One of the Tibetans had told them, in 
a magisterial tone, that three days before a messenger had come from 
a yak-hunter in the north, who reported having seen an enormous 
caravan proceeding toward Lhasa. 

‘Are you associated with them?” he asked. ‘Tell the truth. 
Remember that you are a lama.” 

Shereb Lama’s knees trembled, and he stated the facts, without 
mentioning my presence. But Shagdur assured me that the magisterial 
Tibetan had several times used the expression “shved peling,” or 
“Swedish European.” ‘The pilgrims from Temirlik or Charkhlik had 
probably ascertained my nationality through their questioning, though 
none of them had the slightest knowledge of Sweden. ‘They had only 
very hazy ideas about China, British India, and Russia. Shagdur 
thought that Shereb Lama had betrayed us, but I could not share his 
suspicions. And even if it were true, all is now forgotten and forgiven. 
The Tibetan had finally said: ‘You will stay here to-morrow.” 

We sat up long, pondering over our prospects. All through the 
night, watch-fires surrounded our tents at a little distance. 

Shortly after daybreak, three other Tibetans came to our tent. I 
always wore blue Mongolian eye-glasses. ‘The newcomers asked to 
see my eyes, and were much surprised to find them as dark as their own. 
Their wish to see our weapons was granted with pleasure. After that 
lesson they backed towards their horses. 

A while later, an old white-haired lama and three other men visited 
us. ‘The former asked a number of questions about our headquarters, 
and informed us that couriers had been sent to Kamba Bombo, the 
Governor of Nakchu. We were prisoners until his instructions came. 

The next number on the day’s program was not reassuring. Fifty- 

352 


Mees ON RR Of ah RE ANS: 353 


three horsemen, in red, black, or grey cloaks, wearing high white hats 
or red bandannas around their heads, and armed with spears, lances, 
swords, and muskets, decorated with streamers, gathered at a tent- 
settlement a few hundred yards away. They dismounted, held a con- 
sultation by a fire, right in the rain, and then sprang into their saddles. 
Seven of them rode east on the road to Nakchu, two went south along 
the main road to Lhasa. The rest galloped off, making straight for our 
tent, emitting wild war-cries, and swing- 
ing their swords or muskets above their 
heads. Shereb Lama believed that our 
hours were numbered. We took our 
stand in front of the tent, with finger on 
trigger. Like an avalanche the ‘Tibe- 
tans rushed forward. The hoofs of the 
horses smacked in the wet. When so 
close that the nearest horses splashed 
us, they divided into two squads, and 
swung back in two wide curves to their 
starting-point. 

Having repeated this warlike maneu- 
vre twice, they dismounted and shot at 
a target. They evidently intended to 
inspire us with awe. Finally they rode 
toward the northwest, and I wondered tue tTrseTANs CHARGED STRAIGHT DOWN 
if they would dare to attack our head- abt ire: 
quarters. 

All day long new visitors came. They brought us little gifts of 
fat, milk, or sour milk, and none of them would accept payment. Dur- 
ing a shower we had four fellows in our tent, where we sat packed like 
sardines. But when a small stream of rain-water found its way into our 
shelter, I sent them out to dig a ditch around the tent. In the evening 
we counted thirty-seven watch-fires around us, faintly gleaming through 
the rain. 

The next day new spies arrived. One of them presented us with an 
armful of yak-droppings and a bellows, and told us that Lhasa was five 
days off, but that the mounted postman made the journey ina day. The 
district where we were was named Yallok. Our seven pack-animals had 
been led away, probably to prevent our flight. We saw horsemen in 


354 MY LIFE AS AN. EXPLORER 


every direction, riding singly or in squads. At times the place swarmed 
with mounted, armed men. It looked like a mobilization. We were 
but three against this superior force. We were prisoners and in the 
midst of a great adventure. ; 

On the morning of August 8, five men came up and presented us with 
a sheep. A message had arrived that Kamba Bombo, the All-Highest, 
was himself on his way to see us. Shereb Lama was afraid that the 
Governor would recognize him. By way of punishment for a derelic- 
tion, a lama had once been sentenced to travel the entire distance from 
Urga to Lhasa in a prostrate position, 1. e., he had to measure the road 
with the length of his body. It had taken him six years. Shereb Lama 
believed that he would suffer a like penalty. 

We could not take fifty steps from the tent without spies coming 
forth to watch us. Ben Nursu seemed to be a sort of chief spy. His 
tent was close to ours. He sat with us for hours, and ate his meals 
with us. 

In the afternoon we were seated with seven Tibetans around our 
fire in the open, when a troop of horsemen came galloping straight up 
to us from the east. It was Kamba Bombo’s interpreter, who spoke a 
poorer Mongolian than I, but was otherwise a decent fellow. He 
questioned us thoroughly, and was most interested in our headquarters. 
Apparently they had illusions of a Russian invasion, with thousands of 
Cossacks. The interpreter told us that the Dalai Lama received daily 
reports about us. I asked him harshly how they dared to detain peace- 
ful pilgrims from the Buriat provinces of the Russian Czar. ‘Your 
subjects steal our horses at night; but you treat us, who do you no 
harm, like robbers.” The interpreter looked pensive, but answered that 
the road to Lhasa was closed to everyone who had no proper passport. 

On the ninth, in the morning, the scene became animated. The 
whole plain swarmed with horsemen and pack-animals, and a new tent- 
village was growing up not far away. So much ado because of us, three 
poor pilgrims! One large tent was white, with blue ribbons. None 
but a chief could lodge thus. 

Accompanied by a squad of horsemen, the interpreter came to our 
tent, and announced that Kamba Bombo had arrived, and was expect- 
ing me to a feast. Everything was prepared. Each of us was to 
receive a haddik, a long piece of thin white gauze cloth, symbolizing 
welcome. ‘There were viands, including an entire sheep. 


8 BER ESON EIR Ov Ieee ee PB PANS S55 


I answered stiffly: ‘‘People of good manners first pay a visit before 
inviting guests to a party. If Kamba Bombo wants anything of us, 
let him come here. We have nothing to withhold from him. All that 
we wish to know is whether the road to Lhasa is open to us or not. 
If not, Kamba Bombo will have to take the consequences on himself.”’ 

The interpreter was in despair. For two hours he sat begging 
and imploring us to come to the feast. 

‘T shall be dismissed if you do not come,”’ he pleaded. 

Even when he was in his saddle, he continued his persuasion. 


Finally he rode off. 


Another two hours passed, when a troop of sixty-seven horsemen 


KAMBA BOMBO, ACCOMPANIED BY 67 MEN ON . HORSEBACK 


came dashing up from the new tent-village. They presented a splendid 
picture in their deep-blue and dark-red attire, their swords in scabbards 
ornamented with silver, coral, and torquoises, their cases holding an 
image of Buddha, their rosaries, and the rattling silver accoutrement 
at their sides. Kamba Bombo rode in the centre on a milk-white she- 
mule. He wasa small, pale man, perhaps forty years old, with eyes that 
blinked roguishly; and he wore a red cloak and red bashlik over a 
yellow silk robe, with skunk sleeves, green velvet boots, and a blue 
Chinese cap. 


356 NOY VU DRE AS VCAWN (Rasa ia. 


He dismounted in front of my tent. His servant spread a rug on 
the ground and placed cushions on it. Here he and another high 
official, Nanso Lama, a monk, settled down. 

I invited the two gentlemen into my tent, where each found a seat 
on a bag of flour. 

Kamba Bombo was polite and kind, notwithstanding that we had 
tried to deceive him, had responded uncivilly to his invitation to a 
party, and were in his power. The interrogations were renewed, the 
Governor’s secretary recording all my answers. ‘To my request for 
permission to continue, see the Holy City, and then return to head- 
quarters, Kamba Bombo answered with a significant gesture of his hand 
toward his neck. 

“No; not one step further toward Lhasa. ‘That would cost your 
heads—and mine, too. I do my duty. I get orders from the Dalai 
Lama every day.” 

He was immovable, inexorable. He did not lose control of himself 
for one moment. He was at once dignified and jovial. When we 
spoke of the two horses that had been stolen, he laughed and said: 
“You shall get two others from me. When you return to your head- 
quarters, you shall be escorted to the border of my province, you shall. 
have provisions, sheep, and everything you need. You have but to give 
your orders. But not one step farther toward the south.” 

In those days it was impossible for a European to travel to Lhasa. 
Przhevalsky, Bonvalot, De Rhins, Rockhill, Littledale, all had met with 
the same insurmountable resistance. Two years later, Lord Curzon 
sent his Anglo-Indian army to Lhasa. It opened the southern road to 
the Holy City by force, and four thousand Tibetans were killed. That 
was called war. But the ‘Tibetans had asked nothing but to be left 
in peace. When the Tibetans under Kamba Bombo outwitted me, they 
too used peremptory means, but no violence, and they made their will 
effective without staining their hands with blood. On the contrary, 
they treated me with the utmost consideration. As for myself, I had the 
satisfaction of going to the limit of the adventure without capitulating 
until the opposition proved absolutely unconquerable. In the end, 
Kamba Bombo rode back to his tent. I told him it was my purpose 
to start off for headquarters already on the following day. 

Early in the morning, I mounted my horse, and rode—much to the 
dismay of Shagdur and Shereb Lama—quite alone to Kamba Bombo’s 


é 


— . 


AOR RES ON OR Oi ore uel Bir AUN S857 


tent. But I had not gone half-way, when twenty horsemen surrounded 
me and asked me to dismount. After some waiting, Kamba Bombo 
appeared with his escort. Rugs and cushions were spread out, and we 
settled down to converse on neutral ground. I asked him jokingly 
how it would be if he and I should ride to Lhasa, only we two together? 
He laughed, shook his head, and said that it would be a pleasure to him 
to travel in my company, provided the Dalai Lama gave his permission. 

‘Well, let us send a courier to the Dalai Lama. I am willing to 
wait a couple of days.” 

“No, he answered determinedly. ‘I should be dismissed im- 
mediately after such a question.” 

Kamba Bombo screwed up his eyes, and pointing at me, said: 
Sahib!” 

I asked him how he could think that an Englishman from India 
could come from the north with Russian and Buriat Cossacks in his 
service, and I tried to explain to him where Sweden was. 

Presently two horses were brought forth as compensation for the 
stolen ones. They were poor stock, and I said that I did not want them. 
Thereupon two perfect animals were produced, and [| declared myself 
satisfied. 

Finally I asked Kamba Bombo why he came with sixty-seven men, 
when we were only three, nay, I was quite alone now. Was he afraid 
of me? 

“No, not at all, but I have orders from Lhasa to treat you as we 
treat the highest dignitaries in our own country.” 

We mounted again, and Kamba; Bombo and his gentlemen accom- 
panied me to my tent. There our weapons were examined and the 
escort was introduced to us. It consisted of two offiicers—Solang Undy 
and Ana Tsering—a non-commissioned officer, fourteen men, and six 
men for the Tibetans’ belongings. ‘They brought ten sheep for them- 
selves. Kamba Bombo gave us six besides; also fat, flour, and milk. 
Thereupon I said farewell, and we parted, the very best of friends.’ 


1Edmund Candler, Reuter’s correspondent in the British-Indian military expedition 
against Lhasa, relates in his book, “The Unveiling of Lhasa,” that a small British force 
was attacked unexpectedly in the beginning of May, 1904, by one thousand Tibetans under 
the command of that same Kamba Bombo who, three years earlier, had checked my advance 
near Nakchu. After ten minutes’ violent shooting, the Tibetans retired, leaving behind 
one hundred and forty dead. The British lost five. It is probable that my friend Kamba 
Bombo was among those killed. On that occasion as when we met him, he did only his 
duty to his country. I was not angry with him in 1901. After what happened in 1904, 
I admire him and honour his memory. 


358 MY: DIRE AS AN cE? TOR Fe 


Our procession looked like the transfer of prisoners. We were 
flanked by Tibetans, and they rode before us and behind us. When 
we encamped, they pitched two of their tents immediately next to ours, 
and kept watch during the night. We slept the whole night, and gave 
no thought to our pack-animals. Yolbars inspired them with the great- 
est awe, and had constantly to be held in leash. The escort included 
two lamas, who constantly swung their prayer-wheels, mumbling ‘‘om 
mani padme hum.” 

The day’s journey was divided into two stages, with an interval 
fortea. ‘Then the Tibetans cut three chunks of earth out of the ground, 
with their swords, and made a triangular support for the saucepan over 
a fire. Their lunch consisted of boiled mutton, tsamba, and tea. Their 
horsemen looked handsome, with queues rolled round their heads, and 
red turban-like sashes. Their right arms and shoulders were bare, the 

skin coat being allowed to slip half-way 
down their backs. All the horses wore 
bell-collars, and they made the valleys 
gay with their tinkling. 

After we had ridden across the Sachu- 
tsangpo, which had fallen considerably, 
the escort bade us farewell, and we were 
once more left to ourselves. It seemed 
lonely and desolate after they aban- 
doned us, and our night-watches began 
again. Once Malenki stood barking on 
a small hillock by the roadside. I rode 
thither and saw a bear digging up a 
marmot-hole. He was so absorbed in 
his work that he did not notice me until 
I was quite close upon him. Then he 
left the hole and slunk away. ‘The dogs 
chased him, he turned round and held 

_ his ground, and there was a gay dance 
before both sides tired. 

On August 20, only a few miles re- 
mained to be covered. We heard rifle-shots in a glen, and beheld two 
horsemen—Sirkin and Turdu Bai—who were out getting meat for the 
caravan. They wept with joy on seeing us. 


A BEAR DIGGING UP A MARMOT-HOLE 


APPR ES ON EIR. Of Dit EAN S37) 359 


And then we rode up to the camp, where everything was quiet. 
Chernoff had arrived with the rear-guard, having lost only two camels 
and two horses. ‘lo me it was like coming back to civilization. Using 
the caravan-buckets, I took a hot bath. I had not washed in twenty- 
five days, and the water had to be changed several times. Afterwards 
it was pleasant to lie undressed in one’s clean, dry bed, while some 
of the men gave a concert with a balalaika, a flute, a temple-bell, my 
music-box, and two improvised drums. We had not reached Lhasa, 
but we had tasted the enchantment of the great adventure as never 
before. 


n 
Fis 


WHY WW B 
AnY/ 7 NG why Ay, ‘nx WA wld A 
sin wt nay, 71" | 
ne, Clay ce 


. R i ‘i 
hin G 4 8 AU TAN 


LHASA AND ROUTE TO INDIA 


C HUA TR RMX ay. 


Stopped by an Armed Force 


another. I decided, therefore, to push south with the entire 
caravan until confronted by insurmountable obstacles, and then 
to head westwards to Ladak, and, by way of Kashmir and Hi- 
malaya, eventually reach warmer regions on the banks of the Ganges. 

This was a difficult march. Several high passes had to be crossed, 
and new belts of treacherous quicksand negotiated. Several horses died. 
One of our men, Kalpet of Keriya, being sick, had to ride. The region 
was rich in game, and the Cossacks kept us in meat. Once they shot a 
wild goat and an antelope, and allowed them to freeze bone-hard 
in their fleeing posture, so that they looked quite lifelike. Another 
time, a poor hare was chased by seven dogs. Yoldash caught him; 
but then Yolbars appeared, and ate him up. 

That sooner or later we would be stopped, appeared certain. The 
Tibetans, being warned, had increased the guard on the north. By 
September 1, after one week on the road, we again encountered nomads. 
From the top of a pass, we viewed the plain to the south, which seemed 
dotted with horses; and there were thousands of sheep grazing there. 
Shagdur and Lama rode up to a tent to buy milk and fat, but the 
inhabitants declared they were forbidden to sell us anything. Shagdur 
displayed anger, whereupon the frightened Tibetan sold us what we 
wished. Three Tibetans were brought to our camp, where we treated 
them to tea and bread. When we let them go, they were in a terrible 
hurry to get into their saddles; and they rode away as if pursued by 
evil spirits. 

On September 3, six armed horsemen appeared on the left of the 
caravan, and seven on the right, all at quite a distance, every one 
wearing a tall white hat. There were many tents, and we looked into 
some of them. The women wore their hair in small plaits; and on 


[ was now my plan to cross Tibet and reach India in one way or 


their backs they had red ribbons, with coral, turquoises, and silver coins. 


360 


ie 


SPOPRP ED Y Bays OANA R NEED FORCE 361 


We reached the Sachu-tsangpo again, far below the point where we 
had crossed the river before. Here the water was crowded into one 
very deep channel. The Tibetans, seated on the shore, expected to see 
a free show. When we assembled our boat and launched it, they 
stared blankly. At the camp, a chief with his band ventured forth and 
said: 

‘We have orders to prevent you from continuing south.” 

“All right, prevent us.”’ 

‘We have sent messengers to Lhasa. If you proceed in that di- 
rection, we shall lose our heads.”’ 

‘“That would serve you right.”’ 

‘‘All the nomads have been forbidden to sell you anything.” 

““We take what we need. And we have firearms.” 

I took Ordek along, and we sailed down the river, for two days, 
to the point where it emptied into the large salt-lake of Selling-tso. 
The Tibetans followed on shore, occasionally letting out wild shouts. 
We met the caravan near the mouth and encamped. Our Cossacks 
forced some people to sell us four sheep. 

We continued along the lake-shore; and on September 7, sixty- 
three horsemen were at our heels. On the following days, we skirted the 
western shore of the lake, and then the northern shore of a fresh- 
water lake quite close by. The Tibetans increased in number. It 
looked again as if the tribes were being mobilized. The chief im- 
plored us daily to turn off toward Ladak, or to await orders from 
Lhasa. But we did not allow ourselves to be diverted. I wished to 
map out the two lakes, and viewed the situation calmly. 

The fresh-water lake, called Naktsong-tso, was extremely beautiful, 
with its steep shore-rocks, bays, and isles, and its blue crystal-clear 
water. 

Kalpet’s sickness grew worse, and the poor man had to be trans- 
ported, reclining on a camel. Time and again we made short stops 
to minister to him. Once during such a pause, near a tent-village, on 
the eastern shore, he asked for a cup of water. The next time we 
halted, he was dead. He was laid in a tent overnight, the Moham- 
medans keeping vigil. At the grave, Rosi Mollah spoke of the dead 
man and his faithfulness, and the others repeated prayers for the dead. 
A black cross, with an inscription, was raised on the hillock. His 
tent, clothes, and boots were burned. During the funeral, the Tibetans 


362 MY (LIF EAS: AN) EXP Th OR in 


observed us from a little distance. Afterwards they expressed their 
surprise at the amount of trouble we had taken with a dead man. “It 
would be simpler to throw the body to the wolves,” they said. 

We returned to the cares of every-day life and the uncertainties 
of a new day. As we moved southwards, the Tibetan crowds grew 
larger; and presently new groups appeared ahead of us, gathered about 
some black and two blue-white tents. A band of horsemen surrounded 
us and asked us to stop, as the two Governors of Naktsang, the 
province in which we were, had arrived. They had received important 


A HERD OF “GOA”? GAZELLES 


information from the Devashung, or the government in Lhasa. I con- 
cluded to encamp a hundred and fifty paces from their tents. Our 
largest tent was adorned with a rug from Khotan, and was used as an 
audience-chamber. 

After a short time, the two governors rode up, wearing gorgeous 
red robes and button-caps of Chinese cut. I went out to receive them. 
‘They dismounted, greeted me politely and friendly, and entered the 
tent. The more eminent of the two, Hlaje Tsering, was an elderly, 
beardless man, with a queue; the other one was Yunduk Tsering. 
We began a palaver that lasted three hours. Hlaje Tsering began: 

‘You rode to Lhasa with only two companions on a road further 
east, but you were stopped and escorted over the border by Kamba 
Bombo of Nakchu. You have now come to Naktsong, and you may 
not proceed a single step along this road.” 


SPORPED BY, AN: ARMED FORCE —§ 363 


‘You cannot prevent me,” I replied. 

“Yes, we can; we have millions of soldiers.”’ 

‘What does that signify? I am able to use force, too.” 

“Either you or we will have to lose our heads. We will be de- 
capitated, if we let you through. We might as well fight first.” 

“Do not worry about my and my men’s heads, you will never get 
hold of them. We are supported by higher powers, and we have 
terrible weapons. We intend to continue south.” 

“Tf you have eyes, you will see to-morrow how we can stop your 
caravan,”’ they cried, beside themselves with excitement and anger. 

“Tf you have eyes, you had better look out to-morrow, when we go 
south,’ I retorted, most coolly. “But keep your muskets ready, for 
it will be hot about your ears. Before you have time to load, we will 
have you down, your noses in the air, all of you.” 

“No, no; there is no talk of killing,” they answered, persuasively. 
“Tf you will return by the way you came, you shall have guides, pro- 
visions, caravan-beasts, and everything you need.” 

“Listen, Hlaje Tsering, do you really think that I am so mad 
as to go back to the wastes in the north, where I have already lost 
half of my caravan? Wherever we may go, I shall never go there!” 

‘Very well,” he said, “we will not fire at you, but we will make 
your journey impossible.”’ 

“How will that happen?” 

“Twenty soldiers will hold each one of your horsemen and camels. 
We will keep your animals till they collapse. We have special orders 
from Lhasa.” 

“Show them to me,’ I said. But I had realized from the first that 
we could not proceed. 

“With pleasure,” they replied; whereupon the paper was produced. 
It was dated, “In the year of the Iron Cow, sixth month, twenty-first 
day.’ It contained an account of the reports of the Mongol pilgrims 
concerning our large caravan, and concluded thus: 

‘Let writings be quickly sent to Namru and Naktsong so that it 
may be known to all and sundry, from Nakchu unto the limits of my 
(the Dalai Lama’s) land, that Europeans are forbidden to travel 
southward. Let writings be issued to all chieftains. Guard the borders 
of Naktsang; it is necessary to keep the whole country foot by foot 
under surveillance. It is quite beyond any need for Europeans to 


364 MYL DRE SAS) AN? Bie EO 


enter the land of the holy books to look about them. They have no 
affair in the province which you two command. If such should declare 
that it is necessary to do so, then be it known unto you that they shall 
not travel southward. If despite that they should proceed, your heads 
will be forfeit. Oblige them to turn and to retreat on the path over 
which they came.” 

Thereupon they said hard words to poor Shereb Lama, because 
he “had shown us the way.” But then the latter became furious, and 
asked what right they had to scold a lama who was a Chinese citizen. 
When the quarrelling became too violent, I took out the big music-box 
and placed it between the disputants. Then the Tibetans were baffled, 
and did not utter a sound for a long while. 

In the evening, I returned the visit, and had tea in the Governor’s 
large tent, which was adorned with rugs, cushions, low tables, and a 
house-altar, with sacred images, oil-lamps, and offerings. We had an 
agreeable time, and talked till midnight. 

Kuchuk and I had two divine days in the boat on the lake of 
Naktsang-tso. ‘The lake was circular, and of fairylike beauty, where 
steep cliffs rose from the water. We rowed into narrow, picturesque 
bays, where golden eagles soared among the cliffs. Nomads, tending 
their herds in the fields along the shore, were amazed at our silent 
approach on the water. They had never before seen a boat, and they 
hurriedly drove their animals away from the lake. On the northwest 
shore we found our people again, and rode on to the eastern shore 
of the Chargut-tso, another beautiful lake, with its mountains and 
hillocks, its isles and fjords. The camel that had borne Kalpet when 
he went to his last sleep, died on the way there; and the superstitious 
Mohammedans found that quite natural. 

Our camp was magnificent. We had five tents, the Tibetans twenty- 
five, and their force had increased to more than five hundred men. 
The shore swarmed with horsemen, men afoot, horses, yaks, and sheep; 
and the red streamers fluttered from the soldiers’ muskets. Military 
displays and wild equestrian feats were performed in my honour. It 
was a brilliant scene when the sun shone on the variegated garments 
and the gleaming weapons. There was an interchange of hospitality. 
Hlaje Tsering presented me with two horses and placed forty yaks 
at my disposal. They were to be in constant readiness for the long 


SDOPRPE De BY) AN OAR NEED PR OOR'C Be: 365 


journey to Ladak. I gave the two Governors watches, revolvers, dag- 
gers, and other articles, and we became the best of friends. 

On September 20, I set out with the boat, Khodai Kullu being my 
oarsman. We were a good way out on the lake, when a full western 
storm broke. The waves rose increasingly high, and our light bark 
was hurled violently back toward the camp. When we rose on the 
crests, the tents were in sight; but down in the troughs the shore dis- 
appeared from view. We approached the shore rapidly. The surf 
roared. Soon we would be dashed ashore, and the boat smashed to 
pieces by the waves. The Tibetans gathered in dark groups on the 
shore to witness our destruction. But the Cossacks were ready. They 
undressed and sprang into the water, Khodai Kullu jumped overboard, 
and strong arms carried the boat, as well as me, across the foaming 
surf to dry land. The Tibetans were dumbfounded. 

The evening was calm, and I was able to conduct a successful 
sounding-expedition by lantern-light. When we returned, the shore, as 
seen from the lake, resembled an illuminated city. ‘The moon shed its 
light over the camp. The tents resounded with mirth and the music 
of stringed instruments. 

The following day I made another excursion on the lake, with 
Kuchuk. The caravan and the Tibetans were to go to the end of the 
lake. It extended far in a westerly direction, and a rocky island rose 
in the middle. We steered toward the isle. The north shore disclosed 
the long black lines of our caravan and its attendants, moving westward. 

The wind rose. It increased. We pulled on the oars. The isle 
had to be reached. After desperate efforts, we landed in the lee of its 
eastern shore. We drew the boat up and went to explore the land. 

‘How about it?” I asked Kuchuk. “Did we tie the boat properly?” 

‘T think so,” was his amazed reply. 

‘What if it should drift away from us? We have food for three 
days. But what then? If the boat should fill, it would sink; and the 
others could not then get out to us. We would have all the lake to 
drink from, but no rifle with which to shoot water-fowl.”’ 

“T guess we would have to try to catch fish,” Kuchuk suggested. 

‘Yes, but it would be three months before the lake froze.” 

“There is plenty of fuel, evidently yaks graze here in the winter.” 

‘We would have to build a stone hut and dig in for the autumn.” 


366 MY 2LEPE AS” AN EX Pil Omak 


“And we could make a signal-fire at the top of the cliff, which 
our people could see, in case they went in search of us.”’ 

“Oh, don’t talk nonsense, Kuchuk. Better go and see if the boat 
is still there.” 


It was still there. 
We walked to the western shore. The storm hurled the waves 


among huge cliffs, where they were turned into spray. We went to 
our camp beside the boat, lit a fire, made tea, and had dinner. After- 
wards we lay listening to the roar of the storm among the cliffs. Dusk 
and dark came, and the moon rose. 

“Tet us row westward, later on in the night, when the storm 
subsides.”’ 

But the storm continued violently. We went to sleep. The sun 
rose brilliantly, but the storm was as noisy as before. We strolled 
about on the isle, gathering fuel. For hours I sat on the western 
shore, dreaming to the song of the waves. At the top of the cliff 
I took farewell of the sun. And again we sat waiting by the fire. 

The storm subsided suddenly during the night. We put out and 
steered west, where I had taken the bearings of another small rocky 
island. It was dark; so we lit the lantern. The boat rolled in the 
swell. At last we struck the shore of the island, pulled the boat up, 
and went to sleep. 

The next morning was again windy, and so we tarried. Then the 
weather improved and we pushed off. But we had not gone far, when a 
new storm broke, and forced us ashore. In the afternoon it quieted 
down, and we made another attempt. We had the largest area of 
open water still before us; and the lead sank 157 feet, where the depth 
was greatest. he sun set in light clouds. The sky grew dark over a 
mountain-ridge in the southwest. We rowed with one oar each. The 
new storm fell upon us. We rowed like galley-slaves against the wind. 
The waves grew and we shipped a lot of water. Mountainous walls rose 
in the southwest. We longed for the security of their lee. The boat 
was already half full of water. : 

“Be ready with your life-belt, Kuchuk; I have mine.” 

We were soaked with spray. A point of land appeared near by. 
Straining our muscles, we reached it just in the nick of time. Half 
dead from exhaustion, we threw ourselves down on the shore. There 


SOM Debary ere RIVE EDD) a OR CE 367 


were big blisters on my hands. We prepared our evening meal over a 
small fire, and slept soundly. 

In the morning we ate our last piece of bread. We rowed on across 
the most westerly part of the lake; and, sighting none of our people, 
we continued through a very short strait, which brought us to a new 
lake, the Addan-tso. We had not gone far on its crystalline waters, 
when a fresh storm literally heaved us onto the shore. The boat was 
swamped, and we were upset in the surf. We were so soaked, that we 
had to undress on shore, drying our clothes in the wind. I was just 
setting off for a near-by nomad-tent, when Kuchuk cried: ‘‘There are 
Cherdon and Ordek on their horses!” 

Within a few minutes they were with us. They had ridden around 
the Chargut-tso and the Addan-tso, looking for us; and failing to 
find any sign, they feared we had drowned. While searching, they en- 
countered several Tibetan patrols and eight sentry-tents, guarding the 
main road to Lhasa. Later on I learned that the two Governors 
suspected a stratagem, and feared that I had escaped their vigilance 
by means of the horses kept in readiness on shore, and that I had 
hurried to Lhasa, mounted on them. 

During our absence, another camel had succumbed, and one of 
our Tibetans had died. On the way to the camp we passed his aban- 
doned corpse, already disfigured by birds of prey. 

Hlaje Tsering and Yunduk Tsering were enchanted at my return, 
and invited me to a feast. 

The next morning our roads parted. I was entrusted to the escort 
that had been commissioned to accompany me westward, while the 
two Governors returned to the capital of their province. Little did I 
dream, as I saw them depart, with their magnificent train, that Hlaje 
Tsering was to figure conspicuously in a later episode of my wanderings 
in Asia. 


Gin ap al RU mid RS Rhea nape cae DM ry 
Through Tibet to India, and Back to Tibet 


N September 25, we began q journey through the entire in- 
terior of Tibet, that lasted three months. Our first escort 
numbered twenty-two men, and was under the command of 
Yamdu Tsering. We were provided, too, with a sufficient 

number of yaks. As we went on, men and animals were renewed 
repeatedly. The escort’s task was to restrain us from proceeding too 
far south, to ‘‘the land of the holy books.” But on several occasions I 
violated this restriction, principally because I wished to shun the routes 
of the pundit Nain Sing and the Englishmen, Bower and Littledale, 
hoping thereby to make new additions to the maps of that region. 

Although most of our equipment was now being borne by the yaks 
which had been placed at our disposal, scarcely a day passed without 
the loss of a camel, mule, or horse. Mohammed Tokta, an old camel- 
driver, headed the sick-list, and we let him ride one of the last horses. 
He was always cheerful, jovial, and uncomplaining. He was generally 
the last to reach camp. But once his horse arrived at our tents without 
its rider. I sent two men for him with a mule. They found him 
asleep in a hole at the side of the path; and he declared that he had 
become so sleepy, that he had fallen off the horse, and had remained 
lying where he fell. He was carried to the camp, and went sound 
asleep in the hospital-tent. From that sleep he never awoke. We 
buried him in the morning, following the rites of the Prophet as far 
as circumstances permitted. 

We came to Lakor-tso, a salt-lake that was drying up, on October 
20. It was still four hundred and eighty miles to Ladak. We would 
never have been able to make our way thither without the help of the 
Tibetans. Of forty-five mules and horses, only eleven were left; and 
of thirty-nine camels, only twenty. The cold season was approaching. 
The temperature had already sunk to —2°. Food was everywhere 
obtainable. We bought sheep from the nomads, the Cossacks followed 


the chase, and the Lop men set nets in the Bogtsang-tsangpo, a river 
368 


DPHROUGH TERE doa Ory tN Dil A 369 


which we followed for several days. At Perutse-tso we encountered 
the first bushes since entering Tibet; so we stayed there four days, 
because of the pasturage, and had gorgeous camp-fres. 

On the border of Rudok, a province of Tibet, we were met by a 
bold and imperious chieftain, who asked to see our passport from 
Lhasa. 

“We have no passport,” IJ answered. ‘I should think it was suf- 
ficient that we are being escorted by Tibetans.”’ 

“No; you may not take a step to the west without a passport, nor 
travel through my province. Stay here and wait, while I send couriers 
to Lhasa.” 

“How soon will the answer be here?” I asked. 

“Tn two and a half months.” 

“Fxcellent,’’ I exclaimed, roaring with laughter. ‘“That suits me 
perfectly. We will go back to Perutse-tso, where there is pasturage 
and fuel, and establish a base of supplies. When the spring comes, 
and you get your silk rope from Lhasa, you will know how I spent 
the winter. Have a care, and don’t blame me when your head falls.” 

He became exceedingly polite, recalled his men from the border, and 
opened Rudok to us. The Tibetans, too, grew bolder, as our distance 
from Lhasa increased. Once, when we were to change men, the new 
relay was missing, and the old gang was preparing to return and 
leave us in the lurch, without guides and yaks. We took their yaks, 
loaded them, and proceeded, whereupon the men thought it prudent to 
come along. 

On November 20, there were still two hundred and forty miles 
to be covered. The thermometer dropped to —18.8°. One of the 
veteran camels died. He had been with us through the large desert, to 
Charchan, and twice to Lou-lan. Every day I had to part from one 
of the friends who helped me to conquer vast territories of innermost 
Asia. One of the horses that Kamba Bombo had given me fell into 
a hole in the ice on the Tsangarshar River. He was rescued with 
great difficulty, dried by the fire, and covered with blankets. ‘he 
next morning the animal lay dead beside the embers. Another day, 
four horses died. And now only a last one was left, the one that I 
still rode. | , 

Having passed the temple-village of Noh, we reached the beautiful 
fresh-water lake of Tso-ngombo (the Blue Lake), narrow and end- 


370 MY “DIFE AS “AN VEEOE TT Clerk 


lessly long, walled in by high, steep mountains, where the clangour 
of the bronze bells evoked a melodious echo. The lake consisted of 
four basins connected by short straits. The fourth basin was not yet 
frozen over, and the mountain-wall on its northern shore descended 
abruptly into the lake. We were thus confronted with an obstacle as 
fierce as the Tibetan hosts. 

It was the third of December. Large parts of the lake were covered 
with thin ice, but the deep water was open directly in our path. The 
air was cold, clear, and calm. During the night, the ice-film extended 
itself over the entire lake, to the foot of the mountain. The next 
afternoon it was five centimetres thick. I decided to build a sort of 


TESTING THE STRENGTH OF THE ICE 


sledge, or float, of camel-ladders and tent-poles, cover it with felt 
mats, and then haul the camels, one by one, across the thin ice. 

We first of all subjected the sledge to a test. As many men as 
equalled the weight of one camel got on the sledge. Two men pulled 
it around the projecting land with ease. But the ice was still so thin 
that it undulated under this weight, and one after another, the men 
jumped off the sledge. As each hero proved craven, he was greeted with 
shouts of laughter. The ice glistened, and was transparent as glass. 
We saw the backs of the fishes, in the depths, as in an aquarium. One 
night more, and the ice was two centimetres thicker. It was now 


THRO WGA WS Bel Tog rN DTA 371 


possible to transport our entire burden around the promontory. Finally, 
the camels, too, were hauled across, on ice nine centimetres thick. 

A. short arm extended from the western end of the Tso-ngombo to 
the Panggong-tso, a salt mountain-lake, which, cradled between noble, 
rocky walls, resembled an enormous river-valley. The landscapes that 
unfolded at every peninsula cannot be described in words; they were 
among the most magnificent on earth. With perpetual snow on their 
ridges and tops, the shoulders of the mountains extended like scenic 
wings, becoming dimmer and dimmer until they merged into the distance 
in the northwest. 

On the north shore, which we followed, the ground along the base 


CAMELS CROSSING THE BIG BOULDERS ALONG THE NORTHERN SHORE OF 
PANGGONG-TSO 


of the mountains was generally quite level. But at times we had to 
traverse low, steep ridges; and sometimes a mass of large boulders was 
piled at the foot of the mountain. Because of its great depth, and the 
high percentage of salt, the lake was open; and we often had great 
difficulty in getting the last camels across. 

I had sent two couriers to Leh, the capital of Ladak, announcing 
our approach; and on December 12, we had the pleasure of meeting a 
relief-expedition on the boundary between Tibet and Ladak. Headed 
by Annar Joo and Gulang Hiraman, two Ladakis, it brought us twelve 


372 MY LIFE: AS (AN EXPLORER 


horses, thirty yaks, and an abundance of flour, rice, maize, fruit, pre- 
serves, and live sheep. The last Tibetans were paid and dismissed, 
and a new era began for us. 

There was animation and gaiety in our camp that evening. Only 
Yoldash was disgruntled. It is true, he slept at my feet, as usual, 
in the tent. But when morning came, he shook himself, dug his nose 
in the ground, and ran eastward as fast as he could, along the shore 
of the Panggong-tso. He ran back to Tibet. He had indulged in 
liaisons with bitches belonging to the nomads. He never returned. 
He had been my tent-mate since the day I left Osh. 

Immediately west of the Panggong-tso, we crossed a low ridge, 
from which we beheld the region of the Indus. We had spent two 
and a half years in territory that was without an outlet to the sea. 

On December 17, I left the caravan and rode rapidly to Leh, so 
as to be able to send telegrams home for Christmas. Piles of letters 
awaited me in the little town. J had not had a word from home for 
eleven months. Lord Curzon sent me a most kind invitation to visit 
him in Calcutta. 

I spent Christmas with the kind Moravian missionaries, Ribbach and 
Hettasch, Dr. Shawe and Miss Bass; and the sight of Christmas- 
candles, twinkling in a Christian mission-room, seemed strange. 

Sirkin and nine of my Mohammedan men returned home by way 
of the Kara-korum pass. The others stayed in Leh, awaiting my return. 
I took only one man to India with me, namely, Shagdur. It was two 
hundred and forty-two miles to Srinagar, and we rode there in eleven 
days. We departed on January 1, 1902, and crossed the dangerous, 
ice-covered pass of Zoji-la on foot. From the capital of Kashmir, we 
drove to Ravalpindi, in a tonga, in three days. 

Space forbids my dwelling on fabulous India. In Lahore, I was 
fitted out from top to toe by an English tailor, whereupon I went to 
Calcutta by way of Delhi, Agra, Lucknow, and Benares. Each of these 
cities is like a dream that haunts one through life. In Government 
House and Barrakpore, Lord and Lady Curzon overwhelmed me with 
hospitality. Few students knew Asia better than he did; and his wife 
was one of the most beautiful and most charming women of America. 
Sir Ernest Cassel was also their guest for a few days. 

Shagdur, my splendid Cossack, wandered about, as if in a dream, 
and could not trust his eyes for all the lovely sights. How different 


PHROUGEH: TIS BEA POO IN DLA 373 


from the quiet forests of eastern Siberia! He fell ill of typhoid fever, 
however, and was conveyed back to Kashmir by special arrangements. 

As for myself, I visited Colonel McSwiney at Belarum, near Hydera- 
bad, in Dekkan; was then a guest of Lord Northcote, Governor of 
Bombay; rode on elephant-back from Jeypore to the ruins of Amber; 
stayed a few days with the Maharajah of Kapurthala; and finally 
returned to Srinagar. Shagdur, having recovered somewhat, was able 
to go back with me to Leh. The Zoji-la was so thickly covered with 
snow at this season, that a winter road led through the deep, narrow 
valley at its foot. Avalanches slid down into the gorge almost daily 
from the overhanging mountains, rendering the way perilous. The 
most dangerous part is always traversed before sunup. It took sixty- 
three men to carry our belongings. It took us four days to negotiate 
the pass and that region. After walking, we rode yaks; and, later on, 
horses. 

On March 25, we were in Leh, where Shagdur, suffering a relapse, 
was treated at the mission-hospital. I could not leave until he was 
out of danger. The nine surviving camels, after enjoying a three and 
a half months’ rest, were fat and round. They were sold to a merchant 
from East Turkestan. On April 5, with the rest of my caravan, I 
left, to cross Tibet once more. But why? Why not rather go home 
by steamer from Bombay? No; I could not leave the Cossacks and 
the Mohammedans adrift. Was I not responsible for them? Shagdur 
was the only one I had to leave behind. He needed a two months’ 
rest. I gave him ample travelling-funds and credentials. When I said 
good-bye, thanking him and invoking God’s blessing, he turned away 
and wept. Much later, I learned that he had reached his home safely, 
by way of Osh. 

I spent May 13 in Kashgar, with my friends, Petrovsky, Macartney, 
and Father Hendricks. ‘The ram Vanka accompanied us to this point. 
He was as devoted to us as a dog. He and all the faithful Mohamme- 
dans stayed in Kashgar. I left Malenki and Malchik in Osh. Later 
on, I parted with good old Chernoff, who was to return to Vernoye. 
In Petrovsk, on the Caspian Sea, I parted from Cherdon and Shereb 
Lama. They were going to Astrakhan, at the mouth of the Volga. 
The ultimate goal of the former was Chita, in Transbaikalia; the 
latter intended to settle down in a lama monastery, with the Kalmucks. 
These various partings with men and beasts upset me greatly. 


374 MY LIFE AS AN EXPLORER 


At last, again all alone, I travelled through Russia to St. Petersburg. 
i saw the Czar in Peterhof. He was delighted to hear my praise of 
the Cossacks, and decorated them with the order of St. Anna and gave 
them two hundred and fifty roubles each. He also ordered that an 
imperial order of the day be issued to all the army-posts of Siberia, 
stating how the four Cossacks had honoured themselves and their 
country on a long and perilous expedition. Later they also received 
gold medals from King Oscar. 

June 27 proved to be one of the happiest days of my life: it was 
the day of my arrival home! 


CARAVAN ROAD 
Ayro THE KARA— 
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THE ROAD TO LADAK THROUGH TIBET 


CHAP TibReox DV TI 


Fighting Four Governments 


time was devoted to the preparation of a scientific account of 
my latest journey, “Scientific Results of a Journey in Central 
Asia,” six volumes of text, with two volumes of maps. 

During the progress of this work, my head teemed with wild plans 
for new journeys of conquest to unexplored parts of Asia; and the 
desert-winds lured me with the call, ‘‘Come home!’’ But this time it 
was especially ‘Tibet that lured me. ‘Three large white spots still yawned 
like blank pages, north of, in the centre of, and south of the highest 
and most extensive mountain-region on earth. Most important of all 
was the territory north of the Tsangpo, or the upper Brahmaputra. 
Two expeditions had traversed this immense valley to the north of, 
and parallel with, the Himalayas—those of the pundit Nain Sing, in 
1865, and of the Englishmen, Ryder and Rawling, Wood and Bailey, 
in 1904. But neither they nor any others had ever crossed the white 
spot north of the Tsangpo River. That an enormous mountain-system 
existed in these regions was almost certain; for the few travellers who 
explored western and eastern Tibet had to conquer sky-high passes. 
No doubt, too, towering, gigantic ridges Jay in the opening between 
the two wings. A few high summits had even been triangulated on 
Ryder’s route. But nobody had been there, and Sir Clements Mark- 
ham, president of the Royal Geographical Society, was right in saying 
of the mountains north of the Tsangpo: ‘In the whole length from 
Tengri-nor to the Mariam-la pass, no one has crossed them, so far as 
we know, ... and I believe nothing in Asia is of greater geographical 
importance than the exploration of this range of mountains.* 

The main purpose of my new journey was to advance to that un- 
known country, and, while there, to discover the souree of the Indus. 
On the latest map of Tibet, published in 1906, in the Geographical 


] STAYED at home in Stockholm for three years. Most of the 


1 Geographical Journal, Vol. 7, p. 482. 
375 


376 MY LDPE VAS AIN CEex RO nue 


Journal, by the Royal Geographical Society, the white spot north of 
the river bore only the one word, ‘‘Unexplored.”’ It was my ambition 
to obliterate that word from the map of Tibet, to supplant it by the 
correct names of mountain-ranges, lakes, and rivers, and to cross and 
recross the white spot in as many directions as possible. . 

I held a strong trump-card in the warm interest which Lord Curzon 
of Kedleston, Viceroy of India, took in my plan. Answering a letter 
of mine, he wrote me, on July 6, 1905, from Simla: | 

“T am very glad that you propose to act upon my advice and to 
make one more big Central Asian journey before you desist from your 
wonderful travels. I shall be proud to render you what assistance lies 
in my power while [ still remain in India, and only regret that long 
before your great expedition is over I shall have left these shores. 
For it is my intention to depart in April, 1906. Now as regards your 
plan. I gather that you will not be in India before next spring, when 
perhaps I may still see you. I will arrange to have a good native sur- 
veyor ready to accompany you; and I will, further, have a man in- 
structed in astronomical observations and in meteorological recording, 
so as to be available for you at the same time. ... I cannot say what 
the attitude of the Tibetan Government will be by the time that 
you reach India. But if they continue friendly, we will, of course, 
endeavour to secure for you the requisite permits and protection. As- 
suring you that it will give me the greatest pleasure in any way to 
further your plans, J am, yours sincerely, Curzon.” 

Conditions could not have been more propitious. There it lay, in 
the silence of mystery, the vast unknown territory north of the Hi- 
malayas, untouched by the British during the hundred and fifty years 
that the keys of India lay in their hands. And, in India, a Viceroy most 
amiably promised every assistance in furthering my plans. The neces- 
sary funds had been placed at my disposal by generous backers, notably 
King Oscar and Emanuel Nobel. With an equipment more complete 
than ever before, the only dark cloud hovering over me was the sep- 
aration from my beloved home. 

On October 16, 1905, I wrenched myself from parents and family, 
and travelled through Europe to Constantinople, and across the Black 
Sea to Batum, so as to make Teheran by way of the Caucasus and the 
Caspian Sea. But revolutionary disturbances were raging in Batum, as 
in several other places. Railway-bridges on the road to Tiflis had 


FIGCH TUNG FOUR GOVERNMENTS = (377 


been blown up, and I had to change my route. Choosing the road via 
Trebizond, on the shore of Asia Minor, I went from there by carriage, 
escorted by six Hamidieh cavalrymen, whom Abdul Hamid lent me, by 
way of Erzerum and Bayazid to the Persian border. Thence I con- 
tinued, without escort, to Teheran, by way of Tabriz and Kazvin. 

Mussaffar-ed-din Shah, the new king, received me hospitably, and 
did everything to help me in my long journey through his great domain. 
I purchased sixteen splendid camels, engaged attendants, bought tents, 
boxes, and provisions, and on January 1, 1906, began a journey on 
camel-back that took four and a half months. During that time I 
crossed the perilous Kevir Desert twice, spent one week in Nasretabad, in 
Sistan, the scene of a ravaging plague, and then proceeded, by fast 
dromedaries, through the whole of Baluchistan, to Nushki, where I 
came to the Indian railway. Space forbids me to dwell on this exciting 
and interesting journey. We must hurry on to unknown Tibet. 

In a burning heat (107° at the end of May), I crossed the plains 
of India; and in Simla, 7,000 feet high, I revelled in the fresh mountain- 
air, in dark forests of royal Himalaya cedars. Sir Francis Young- 
husband met me at the station. I was received with exquisite hos- 
pitality by Lord and Lady Minto, and was their guest in the Viceregal 
Lodge. An atmosphere of the greatest cordiality surrounded me, and 
everybody wanted to help me toward success. ‘Three native assistants 
awaited me at Dehra Dun; and Lord Kitchener of Khartum, the 
Commander-in-Chief of the Indian Army, offered me twenty armed 
Gurkhas. From my window I saw the eternal snow-fields on the 
Himalaya ridges, but only on the first day. On the other side was 
Tibet. Then the curtain of impenetrable clouds descended and con- 
cealed the Promised Land in the north. 

A new government, headed by Sir Henry Campbell-Bannerman, 
was at the helm in London, and Lord Curzon had left his post in 
India. Lord Minto, his successor, did all that could be done to fulfill 
the promises of Lord Curzon. But a very powerful man, John Morley, 
the Secretary of State for India, blocked my path effectually. Sir 
Louis Dane, the Foreign Secretary in India, imparted Morley’s verdict 
to me: the Government in London refused me permission to enter 
Tibet by way of the Indian border! Surveyors, assistants, armed 
escort, all that had been promised was withdrawn. I had survived 
revolutions, deserts, and plague; but at the very threshold of the 


378 MY: LIFE WAS AN* EA’ PEO Ragk 


unknown country, I met an obstruction harder to surmount than the 
Himalayas. 

I cabled the Premier and was met with refusal. Lord Minto sent 
several telegrams to Morley and was refused. Lord Percy interpellated 
Morley in Parliament, only to be answered: ‘The Imperial Govern- 
ment has resolved to keep Tibet isolated from India.” He thought, 
with Kipling: 


“The gates are mine to open 
And the gates are mine to close, 
And I set my house in order, 


Said our Lady of the Snows.” 


God, how I hated Morley at that time! The gates would have 
opened at a single word from him; instead, he slammed them right in 
my face. The English were worse than the Tibetans. But they stirred 
my ambition. ‘‘We shall see who is more at home in Tibet, you or I,” 
I thought. In an address to me, a few years later, Sir Cecil Spring-Rice 
said: ‘‘We closed the doors to you; but you climbed in through the 
windows.” I did not understand then how grateful I should have 
been to Lord Morley; but subsequently I got the opportunity to tell him 
so in public. | 

All these negotiations and futile endeavours took time. But I was all 
right. I won a lifelong friend in Colonel Sir James Dunlop-Smith, 
private secretary to the Viceroy. My correspondence with him would 
fill a fat volume. I spent two unforgettable weeks with the charming 
family of Lord Minto. He told me about his life. His great-grand- 
father had been Viceroy of India a hundred years before. ‘The journey 
being arduous, he had left his family in the mother country. When his 
term was up, he sailed for home, but died of a stroke when only one 
station from his castle, Minto, in Scotland. On the packet of letters 
that passed between him and his wife during his Indian years, she 
wrote these words: ‘Poor fools.”’ Lord Minto, the younger, served 
as a young officer in the military expedition into Afghanistan. In 
1881, during a visit to St. Helena with Lord Roberts, they were strolling 
with Governor Johnson on the road to Longwood. Two old ladies 
approached, and the Governor whispered to the two lords: ‘Observe 
carefully the lady nearer to us.” The ladies having passed, the lords 


FIGHTING FOUR, GOV ERIN ENTS: . 379 


remarked: ‘Her profile was the image of Napoleon’s.’’—‘Yes,” the 
Governor replied, “she is a daughter of Napoleon.”” Lord Minto, who 
was a great admirer of the Corsican, told another anecdote of him. 
Lord Russell, one of Lord Minto’s forbears, visited Napoleon in Elba, 
and used very strong words in condemnation of the war and its terrible 
cruelty. Napoleon listened with a smile, and, when Russell finished, 
said: ‘‘Mais c’est un beau jeu, c’est une belle occupation.” 

However, Minto rose in rank, and became Governor-General of 
Canada, when Roosevelt was President. Minto spoke much of him, 
and of his simple habits. The two men were as different as night and 
day. The President was the more powerful of the two. But Minto 
was an unusually fine and noble man; and when Curzon retired, he 
was appointed Viceroy of India, over its population of three hundred 
and twenty millions. 

Lord Kitchener, too, was an acquaintance not easily forgotten. He 
was furious at the unyielding attitude of his Government toward me. 
The public dinners and parties given by him and the Viceroy surpassed 
anything that can be attained in that line in Europe and America; and 
the Maharajahs shimmered with pearls and precious stones. The en- 
trance-hall of Lord Kitchener’s house was hung with flags he had taken 
from the Mahdi and the Dervishes at Omdurman, and trophies from 
the Transvaal and Orange Free State. His apartments were decorated 
with busts of Alexander and Cesar, and portraits of Gordon Pasha, 
not to mention the magnificent collection of china from the Kang Hi 
and Chien Lung periods. ‘Townshend, his chief of staff, was also a friend 
of mine. He was head of the campaign in Mesopotamia, in 1916, when 
I met him as a prisoner of the Turks in Bagdad, after the fall of 
Kut-el-Amara. I could tell much about that—but we are on our way 
to Tibet. 

All attempts proving vain, I decided to reach Tibet by a road over 
which Morley had no authority, i. e., from Chinese territory in the north. 
I said farewell to my friends in Simla, and went to Srinagar. Officially 
it was said that I was on my way to East Turkestan. The Maharajah 
of Kashmir received me very cordially; and Daya Kishen Kaul, one of 
his trusted adjutants, personally assisted me in organizing my caravan. 
We bought forty mules from the Maharajah of Poonch, modern rifles 
and ammunition, tents, saddles, tools, provisions, etc. Two Rajputs— 
Ganpat Sing and Bikom Sing—and two Pathans—Bas Ghul and Khair- 


380 MY SD TREO AS OMAN Bike Poo as. 


ullah Khan—were to take the place of the unmaterialized escort from 
India. A Eurasian, Alexander Robert, was to be my secretary; and 
Manuel, a Catholic Indian from Madras, my chef. I took with me 
9,000 rupees in gold and 22,000 in silver. The latter all bore the 
likeness of Queen Victoria. ‘Tibetans do not accept rupees that bear 
the King’s portrait. The queen wears an imperial crown and a pearl 
necklace and looks like a Buddha; while of the King, no more is shown 
than his head, and that without a crown. 

I had a collapsible boat from London and a very beautiful, silvery 
aluminum chest, with hundreds of different medicines in tabloids, the 
sift of Burroughs Wellcome, in London. The boat, as well as the 
chest, was to figure importantly in Tibet. 

No sooner had I arrived in Srinagar than I received this written 
message from Colonel Pears, the Resident: “The Indian Government 
advises that the border between Kashmir and ‘Tibet is closed to you. 
You may go to East Turkestan, provided you have a Chinese passport; 
otherwise not.’’ Fresh annoyances! Of course, I had no Chinese pass- 
port to East Turkestan, for I had been prepared to enter Tibet from 
India. By cable I requested the Swedish Minister in London, Count 
Wrangel, to negotiate with the Chinese envoy for a passport to East 
Turkestan. It was granted and forwarded immediately. I found it 
upon my arrival in Leh; and, upon showing it to the British agent there, 
he telegraphed the Indian Government about it. This was the situation: 
Here was I, in Leh, with a passport to East Turkestan, to which the road 
via the Kara-korum pass was open. But my intention was not to go to 
East Turkestan, and thus the passport was actually not necessary. As 
soon as I had gone far enough to be out of reach of the Anglo-Indian 
authorities, I planned to leave the caravan-route that leads over the 
Kara-korum, and turn east toward the interior of Tibet. This eventu- 
ality, too, was foreseen by the British authorities; and more than a week 
after I left Leh, the Joint Commissioner was notified from Simla that 
the Viceroy had orders from London to stop me, by force, if necessary, 
should I head for Tibet. The failure of this message to reach Leh 
in time was due to the ‘‘negligence’”’ of one of my friends. He withheld 
the telegram for days, releasing it only after I was safely across the 
border. He is dead now, and I hold his name in grateful remembrance. 
But the Joint Commissioner replied something to this effect: ‘He has 
long since disappeared among the mountains. One might as well look 


PIGHTING “FOUR GOVERNMENTS 381 


for a needle in a haystack.” And as for me, I might as well have burnt 
the Chinese passport to East Turkestan. Fortunately I did not. 

Now just a few words about my journey to Leh. 

I departed from Srinagar on July 16. My first camp, at Ganderbal, 
seen in the light of the fire at night, might have been taken for an 
Orientalist conference. There were men from Madras, Lahore, Kabul, 
Rajputana, Poonch, and Kashmir. In a Srinagar street we had picked 
up three wretched little puppies. We dubbed them simply White 
Puppy, Brown Puppy, and Manuel’s friend. We went over Sonamarg in 
several sections, one of which was composed of a long string of hired 
horses from Kashmir, and got to Kargil by way of Zoji-la. By that 
time I was able to measure the calibre of my men. The two Pathans 
were persistent trouble-makers, the men from Poonch and Kashmir 
a motley riff-raff, wholly without discipline. I got rid of the whole 
crowd; and only Robert, Manuel, and the two Rajputs remained of the 
entire Orientalist conference. 

Making a radical change in my plans, I engaged seventy-seven horses 
and a gang of new men; and thus organized, our caravan made its 
festive entry into the monastery of Lamayooroo, where the monks 
entertained us with dances of exorcism and music. 

In Leh, where the British, the German missionaries, and the natives 
all received us warmly, we were to complete our equipment for the 
forbidden advance on Tibet. Younghusband had counselled me to se- 
cure the services of Mohammed Isa. He had accompanied many famous 
Europeans on their travels into interior Asia. He had been with Carey 
and Dalgleish, De Rhins and Grenard, with Younghusband to Lhasa, 

and with Ryder to Gartok. He spoke Turki, Hindustani, and Tibetan. 
He was a big, strong man. In his presence all trembled. He maintained 
strict discipline, but could nevertheless be gay and jocular. 
“Mohammed Isa met me with: 

“Salaam, oahib |” 

“Salaam! Do you want to come along to lead a caravan? It will 
be a hard trip.” 

“Certainly. But where to?” 

| Uhat isa secret.’ 

“But I have to know how much food we will need.” 

“Get enough for three months for men and beasts. Buy as many 
horses as necessary, and hire experienced people.” 


382 MY? ¢GTEE AS: AN) G@EOX TP Ee OCR Rss 


Mohammed Isa set to work, and that speedily. He got invaluable 
assistance from powerful Haji Naser Shah’s great firm, and particularly 
from his son, Gulam Razul. Twenty-five men were employed—nine 
Mohammedans and sixteen Lamaists. Mohammed Isa himself was a 
Mohammedan, but his brother Tsering was a Lamaist. Then there 
were two Hindus, one Roman Catholic, and two Protestants (Robert 
and I). When the whole body was lined up in my court, Captain 
Patterson, the joint-commissioner for Ladak, addressed them. They 
were to receive fifteen rupees a month, half a year’s wages in advance, 
and at the journey’s end fifty rupees each, provided they worked satisfac- 
torily. Sixty-two-year-old Guffaru was the dean. He had served with 
Forsyth on the way to Kashgar, thirty-three years before, and had seen 
the great Yakub Bek. He took his son and his shroud along, so as to 
insure ceremonial burial, should he die during the journey. Shukur 
Ali I had seen in 1890, in Younghusband’s tent. The others will be 
introduced as my story unfolds. 

My doughty caravan-leader also purchased fifty-eight horses— 
thirty-three from Ladak, seventeen from East Turkestan, four from 
Kashmir, and four from Sanskar. Each one was numbered; and, in due 
course, each one had to be entered in the casualty-list. They all died 
in Tibet. Our caravan thus included, at the outset, thirty-six mules, 
fifty-eight horses, thirty borrowed horses, and ten borrowed yaks. 

When provisions had been purchased, and tents, saddles, and all the 
other things were ready, the major part of the caravan, with Sonam 
Tsering as leader, was ordered ahead to the fields of Muglib. 


COV ATE REAR eV LE EE 
Stormy Journeys by Water 


HORTLY before leaving Leh, I called on the Rajah of Stogh, 

a middle-aged, kindly visionary, who, but for its conquest by 

Kashmir, in 1841, would have been king of Ladak. The solid 

castle of the former kings towered above the small town, and 

was visible a great distance. On August 14, its high facade disap- 

peared from our sight, behind wild crags, as we headed for the Indus. 

Not long afterwards, we left the flowing waters of the royal river; 

and I prayed silently that I might one day pitch my tent at its source, 
where no European had hitherto set foot. 

Our camps looked grand. They swarmed with men, horses, and 
mules. It was an itinerant community. Sadly I looked on our fine, 
fat, and flourishing beasts of burden, standing at ease, munching grain 
out of their bags; for I knew that it would not be long before one 
after another would die of exhaustion. Every evening a sheep was 
slaughtered. My men sat in congenial groups around the fires, having 
their meal; and when all had gone to sleep, nothing was heard but 
the song of the night-watch. 

In long, slow-moving columns we ascended the Chang-la pass 
(17,600 feet). I was now crossing it for the third time. On its other 
slope were Drugub and Tanksi, small villages that I knew of old. 
After leaving Tanksi, we saw no trees for six months. Here we made 
a large tent, of Tibetan design, for the men, and made a close inspec- 
tion of all the pack-saddles, to make sure that they would not bruise 
the animals; and in the evening we had a party, with music and women 
dancers. 

_ We reached the last human habitations in Pobrang, beyond the 

Panggong-tso. There we purchased thirty sheep, ten goats, and two 

dogs. Nine fires burned in our camp. Under our scheme of organiza- 

tion, Sonam Tsering was charged with responsibility for the mules, 

Guffaru for the horses, and Tsering, Mohammed lIsa’s brother, was 
383 


384 MY «LIFE WS AN (EX Pl Geir 


chief of the small section that cared for my tent and kitchen. The 
boat was borne by one of the borrowed yaks. We took stock of our 
provisions. The grain and maize would last sixty-eight days, the flour 
eighty, and the rice four or five months. The first snowfall aroused the 
indignation of the puppies. They barked at the flakes and snapped at 
them. The Indians were equally amazed, for they had never before 
seen falling snow. 

The snow lay a foot deep around the pass of Marsimik-la, and 
the caravan looked like long, winding, black ribbons in the dazzling 
whiteness. The first horse succumbed before we reached the ridge 
(18,300 feet). Then we descended again into wild valleys, between 
mighty snow-crowned ranges. We had a delightful camp in the Chang- 
chenmo valley, where bushes provided excellent fuel for our fires. 
It is true that I was unrestricted now; but in Simla I had given my word 
of honour not to go eastward through this valley to the pass of 
Lanek-la, five days distant, and thus to a comfortable road into western 
Tibet. The animals might have been spared hardships, and I would 
have saved considerable time and money, had Lanek-la never been 
mentioned. But under the circumstances, I was forced to make the 
long, roundabout way through northern Tibet, with its murderous 
climate and its immense uninhabited areas. 

In the Chang-chenmo valley, we bade adieu to the fleeting summer, 
and mounted the heights to face winter. We camped in a valley at the 
foot of Chang-lung-yogma pass; and as it had no name, we called the 
camp ‘No. 1.” Before this journey ended, I would reach Camp No. 
500. Mohammed Isa erected a stone man at the gateway to the valley, 
to indicate our trail to the last ieieaeseati io we were expecting from 
Leh, but who was never to find us. 

Making hundreds of turns, we rigzageed up the steep hills, where 
each horse had to be supported by several men. Cries of warning and 
urging resounded among the mountains. Riding past the caravan, I 
reached the saddle of the pass, at the immense height of 18,950 feet. I 
rode a few hundred feet higher, so as to get an unobstructed view. 

My effort was rewarded by a view that no doubt is one of the most 
magnificent in the world. I was surrounded by an agitated sea, com- 
posed of the highest mountain-ranges on earth. The snowy tops of the 
Himalayas towered dazzling-white in the south and southwest, and 
the glacier-surfaces shone like green glass beneath enormous snow-caps. 


Sep O RIVE WOO RN bis BY WA PE R 385 


The sky was brilliantly clear, with only here and there a small white 
cloud sailing by. The main ridge of the Kara-korum, on which we 
now stood, extended northwest and southeast. All the water that 
flows south from here is collected by the Indus, and reaches the warm, 
salt sea. I mounted my horse again, and headed northwards, leaving 
the Indian world behind me. For two years and one month I was to 
live in Tibet, in spite of the prohibition of those in power. 

We were in the wild, desolate Tibetan tableland, which has no 
outlet to the sea. We crossed a region bare of pasturage. The trail 
of the caravan in the soft, moist, yielding soil looked like a highway. 
In the southeast, the Kara-korum ridge was still visible under a dome 
of blue-black clouds, heavy as lead. Time and again these clouds were 
illuminated from within by flaming flashes of lightning, and the thunder 
roared among the mountains. It began to snow; and soon we were 
shrouded in a thick, whirling fall. Riding behind the mules, I could 
see only the nearest animals, while most of the others were very faintly 
visible; but those at the head were not discernible at all. The wind 
was strong, and the snow swept horizontally along the ground. Our 
camp that evening was silent and cold. One mule died during the night. 

We saw the first antelopes here. The weather was fine, as we 
passed over the plains of Aksai-chin, searching for water. After 
marching eighteen miles, we found good pasturage at the foot of a 
rocky point of fossiliferous sandstone and conglomerate. On its top, 
Mohammed Isa erected a cairn. Here we dug for water. This was 
Camp No. 8. Little did I know that I would camp there again. 

On we went, eastward, to Lake Aksai-chin, and pitched our tents 
on its shore. We were still in territory hitherto visited by only a very 
few white men, Crosby, the American, being one of them. The coun- 
try to the east was level and open, a longitudinal valley bounded on 
the north by the gigantic mountain-system of the Kun-lun, with its 
cupola-shaped snowy summits. The ground was sandy and afforded 
tolerably good pasturage. Yet three horses died in one day. A wolf 
lay in wait. As was the case in the desert, all the pack-saddles were 
stuffed with hay, to be consumed by degrees, as the animals succumbed. 

After crossing a small ridge, we beheld east thereof the large lake 
which Captain Wellby discovered in 1896 and named Lake Lighten. 
Camp No. 15 was established on its western shore. Certain changes 
were made in the caravan. I dismissed the two Rajputs, of whom 


386 MY “LIP E -AS: “AN ee Oe 


Mohammed Isa said, not without reason, that they were of no more 
use than the puppies. These men from India could not stand the cold 
climate and the greatly rarefied air. We were enabled to send them 
home from this remote place, because our hired Ladakis, having lost 
four of their thirty horses, asked leave to return. I sent a large post 
with them. The most important letter I wrote was one to Colonel 
Sir James Dunlop-Smith. All my post from Sweden went to the head- 
quarters of the Viceroy, and I requested that it be sent by a reliable 
messenger to the southern shore of Dangra-yum-tso, a lake that I ex- 
pected to reach at the end of November. It was a long chance. 
There was no certainty that I would be able to make my way so far. 
We were five hundred and ten miles from the lake. My friends in 
India understood very well that I would try to reach southern Tibet 
from the north, notwithstanding prohibitions. What happened to the 
post I shall soon relate. 

However, our company was considerably reduced at Camp No. 15, 
where also seven of our own horses died. ‘The rest were treated to 
an abundance of maize and grain, so as to lighten the burdens. Our 
resting-place was arranged in the following way. Mohammed Isa, 
Tsering, and my kitchen were housed in a large tent, where my twenty- 
two boxes were piled up. The Ladakis had their black Tibetan tent 
beyond an enclosure of bags of provisions. Robert lodged in quite a 
small tent, and I in another. 

Our next camp fronted on the northern lake-shore. Mohammed Isa 
was to proceed with the entire caravan to the eastern shore on Sep- 
tember 21, and light a signal-fire in the evening. With Rehim Ali as 
oarsman, I crossed the lake, heading straight south. It was a lovely, 
calm day; the lake was like a mirror. A mighty mountain-range tow- 
ered on the southern shore, red and flame-coloured, and topped by 
changeless snow and ice. I sounded the depth of the water. The 
line was only two hundred and thirteen feet long; and as the lead 
failed to touch bottom in the middle, the lake proved to be one of the 
deepest I examined in Tibet. 

“This lake has no bottom,” my trusty oarsman complained. ‘It is 
dangerous; let us turn!”’ 

“Row on; we will soon reach the shore.”’ 

The lake was of the same colour as the sky, and the red-yellow 
mountains were reflected in its surface. The picture that surrounded 


STORMY JOURNEYS BY WATER 387 


us was beautiful beyond words. Most of the day had passed before 
we landed. And it was after half-past three when we pushed off again, 
to row eastwards to the rendezvous. 

We kept a fair distance from the shore. The lake was still as a 
mirror. Rehim Ali looked apprehensive, and suddenly said: ‘‘A west- 
ern storm, and a hard one!”’ 

I was at the tiller, and turned round, to see the yellow dust-clouds 
scampering along, over the pass in the west. ‘They grew denser, dark- 
ened, and rose toward the zenith. They tussled with one another and 
merged into angry clouds. Far away in the west they went chasing 
out on the lake, which was still mirror-like. 

‘Up with the mast and the sail,” I shouted. “We’ll land if it gets 
bad.” 

Hardly was the sail set, when the storm was howling about our 
ears. [he next moment, the clear surface was shattered like a pane 
of glass; and with a crack of the wind, the sail bellied out. . The billows 
rose into foam-crested waves, and the light boat flew across the lake 
like a wild duck. The water boiled at the bow, and millions of air- 
bubbles seethed in the path of foam that was our wake. 

‘‘A sandy spit ahead!”’ 

“Shallow!” cried Rehim Ali. 

“The boat will be ripped if it grounds here. It’s only canvas!” 

I put all my weight on the tiller. We touched upon the tip of the 
spit, right in the roaring surf. In case of accident, the boat would 
sink like a stone; for it was weighted with a zinc centreboard. But we 
had two life-cushions. 

The storm increased. The mast was strained like a bow. The sheet 
cut into my hand; but to fasten it would have been foolish. 

‘Another cape ahead!” 

‘‘We must try to land on the lee shore!”’ , 

Now we perceived that the lake beyond that cape was endless. 
No shore was visible in the east. The sun was setting. Flame-coloured 
like a glowing ball, it shed a wonderful light over land and water. 
All the mountains shone like rubies. ‘The waves and foamy ridges were 
red. We sped across a lake of blood. Even the sail shone purple. 
The sun set. Soon the last reflection on the highest mountain-tops died 
out, and the landscape resumed its ordinary twilight hues. 

Now we were close to the second cape. 


388 MY. LIFE (AS VAN BAI TO Rie 


We swept past its roaring breakers. I intended to force the boat 
to leeward; but before I knew where I was, we had shot beyond it. 
We flew along on our stormy course, carried by wind and wave. It 
would have been a pity to have put an end to our winged flight. The 
moon was up, and in our path another cape projected. Rapidly we 
approached its extremity. I was ready to shift the helm to port and 
make for the lee shore. But it proved to be impossible in this sweeping 
storm. We dashed past the cape. It was too late. We were hurled 
out over new, vast waters. 

The day had died in the west. The night reached over the eastern 


SAILING ACROSS A STRANGE LAKE AT NIGHT 


mountains and extended its black rings over the lake. ‘The wave-crests 
shone chalky-white in the moonlight, like snow-fields on the mountains. 
Rehim Ali was beside himself with fear, and cowered in front of the 
mast. We shot across the growing waves on our mad ride to death. 
Only three wave-crests could be seen at a time, the one that lifted 
the boat on its back, the one that rushed past us, and the one that 
came rolling behind us. Sailing in a canvas boat at night in such 
weather was a dangerous thing. 

The moon went down, and darkness kept vigil over us. The stars 


5 ORME DOU RNB Ss vB OY aoW ATER 389 


twinkled; it grew cold. I loosened the thwart and sat down in the 
bottom of the boat, so as to obtain some shelter. Only a canvas sep- 
arated us from the foaming waves beneath which unknown depths 
yawned. 

The hours were long. The take had to come to an end sooner 
or later. If steep cliffs descended into the lake on the eastern shore, 
we were lost. I called out to Rehim Ali to warn me as soon as he 
discerned the breakers on the shore. But he did not hear me. He was 
paralyzed with fear. 

Now I heard a dull rumbling ahead, through the howling storm. 


WE HAD TO JUMP INTO THE WATER AND HAUL THE BOAT ASHORE 


It was the surf. I yelled at Rehim Ali, but he did not move. The 
white, foamy ribbon was dimly visible in the dark. The boat bore off. 
In a second it would be sucked out again, filled by the next wave, 
tossed up, and smashed to pieces. Then I grasped the mast with my 
left hand, to keep my balance; and with my right I seized Rehim Ali 
by the collar, and hove him overboard. ‘That helped. The wave 
came rolling like thunder; and the next time the boat bore off, and 
the wave half filled it with its foamy crest, I too jumped into the water. 
Then, by united effort, we hauled it up on shore. 

We emptied the boat and saved our drenched belongings. Our 


B70 95 MY) LIP E AS XAINRBOGP Ty Osta. 


clothes had frozen to ice, and were as hard as wood. We tilted the 
boat against the oars, to provide a shelter for ourselves. The wooden 
roller, round which the lead-line was wound, as also its frame, was 
broken into small pieces beyond repair. And so we got a fire. The 
matches in my breast-pocket were dry. I undressed, thawed out my 
clothes, wrung the water out of them, and tried to dry at least my under- 
wear. It was 3°. Feeling that my feet were nearly frost-bitten, I 
let Rehim Ali rub them. Would we survive this night? 

The splinters were consumed, and I[ was just about to sacrifice one 


WE USED THE BOAT AS A PROTECTION AGAINST THE WIND 


of the thwarts from the boat, when Rehim Ali said: “A light to the 
north.”’ | 

Yes, really! It appeared, faintly, and vanished; returned, and 
grew larger. We heard the tramp of horses. ‘Three horsemen came 
trotting up to us, Mohammed Isa, Robsang, and Adul. We jumped 
up and rode through the dark to the camp, where the tea-kettles were 
singing on the fires. 

Two days later we crossed another ridge and entered a new basin 
without an outlet. In the centre lay a turquoise-blue, shimmering salt- 
lake, known to the East Turkestan population as Yeshil-kul (the 
Green Lake). On this water, too, we made an adventurous trip, and 
again we were to be brought to safety by a beacon-fire. Robert and 


SLPORMY OUR N BAYS By WAT ER 391 


Rehim Ali were my crew. We provided ourselves with clothes. Steer- 
ing northeast, we stopped for lunch on the northern shore, and headed 
south to the meeting-place agreed upon. 

We put off and poled the boat about a stone’s-throw from the 
shore; for this lake, unlike the other, was shallow. Observing yellow 
storm-warnings in the southwest, we held a council. Would it not 
be wiser to spend the night on the northern shore, and let the storm 
blow over? Scarcely had we turned the bow of the boat back toward 
the land, when we saw two big, dirty-yellow wolves, awaiting our 
arrival, at the very edge of the water. They did not retreat one 


WOLVES WAITING ON THE SHORE 


step. Rehim Ali thought that they were outposts, and represented a 
whole pack. We had no firearms with us. Now the question was: 
‘“Which is worse, the wolves or the storm?” We were just discussing 
the situation, when the storm broke, filling the sail and nearly upsetting 
the boat. 

“All right, then, let’s go! We will land before it gets dark.””’ 

Once more. the bow cut through the hissing breakers. ‘The sun 
went down, yellow-red; and with the rising of the moon, the serpent- 
like formations were transformed into silver dust. We had the wind 
on our quarter, and the men used their oars, too. We warded off 


302 MY. “*EIFE ASVAN CEXP LORE 


the waves as best we could. But at times they broke over the gunwale, 
and eventually we sat in a splashing foot-bath. Yet nothing disastrous 
happened. ‘Two large signal-fires appeared in the south. Darkness 
fell. Suddenly an oar touched the bottom, and we found ourselves 
under the lee of a small cape. We landed and spent a wretched 
night on a moist salt-patch. But we got tea; for we had with us 
two jugs of fresh water, as well as food. At dawn, Rehim Ali gathered 
fuel, and soon afterwards Mohammed Isa arrived with horses. 

Sonam Tsering, having been in the service of both Captain Deasy 
(1896-99) and Captain Rawling (1903), was able to show us where 
these Englishmen had camped, and where the former had buried some 
boxes after his animals died. We dug them up, but found nothing of 
value. I took only a couple of novels and books of travel. I was 
eager to leave the routes of these explorers behind me, and strike out 
on the large triangular spot of unknown land in northern Tibet, al- 
luringly described on the English map as “unexplored.” 

After another two days on the road, we found ourselves on the 
western shore of the fresh-water lake of Pool-tso. It was a pleasant 
camp; and Tundup Sonam, the hunter, shot a wild yak, which pro- 
vided us with meat for several days. I got the kidneys and the mar- 
row-bones, a real tidbit. After nightfall, the men sat by the fires, over 
their meal, while I worked in my tent. Then, like a blow, came a 
raging storm—from the east, for a change. Two tents toppled over, 
and the glowing embers blew away like fireworks. ‘The surf beat 
heavily and dully against the shore, and its spray fell over the camp 
like rain. 

The next day was beautiful. We crossed the lake by two routes, 
sounded the depth, and camped on the southern shore, while the caravan, 
after a day’s rest, made for the eastern shore. One more day was 
devoted to the lake, and we reached our new camp without any storm. 
The distance from the abandoned camp on the western shore was not 
great. Presently a fire and bulging clouds of smoke were visible there. 
All were amazed and puzzled. They had left the camp eight hours 
before, and the fire had died down then. Were there already Tibetans 
ready to pursue us and to interfere with our expedition? Or was it a 
post-rider from Leh? No; that was inconceivable. That ghosts were 
wont to walk on the shore, was the belief of my men. They said it was 
a phantom fire lit by the lake-spirits. I suspected it to be a pile of dry 


St ORY OW RIN Bey Seb AW AYER 393 


yak-droppings that had been forgotten, and that had caught fire in the 
wind. 

The caravan dwindled. One horse lay dead in the camp; and the 
next day I rode past three candidates for death, who were being led. 
Our provisions shrank proportionately; and the walled grain-bags that 
served the Ladak-men as a windbreak, diminished progressively. Three 
of our horses ran away, at night, near a small, open lake; and IJ sent 
Robsang in search of them. After three days he returned with two 
of the horses. The trail of the third one revealed an episode both sad 
and dramatic. Pursued by a flock of wolves, the horse had run for 
dear life, straight toward the lake and out into the water. ‘he wolves 


: OT newsman =~ ~~ aa wee 
a s 


ATTACKED BY WOLVES, ONE OF OUR HORSES RAN OUT INTO THE LAKE AND WAS 
DROWNED 


turned back, but not the horse. He had evidently kept on, in the hope 
of saving himself by swimming; but he must have drowned from ex- 
haustion, for no trace of him was discernible on the other shore. 
The caravan, too, was followed by wolves and ravens. ‘The former 
always appeared when our horses died; the latter were half-tame, and 
we could identify some of them. 
On October 6, the temperature was down to —13°. Some of 


394 MY ED Py. GS) CASING Ee Pah Ren ie 


the mules came up to my tent during the night, and in the morning one 
of them lay dead at the entrance. 

Until now, our course had been east-northeastward. We now turned 
to the southeast, across the large triangle which no European had ever 
entered. It was still 396 miles to the Dangra-yum-tso. The Lamaists 
chanted prayers every evening, that we might succeed in making our 
way to the large monastery of Tashi-lunpo; and should we succeed, they 
would make an offering of an entire month’s pay to the holy Tashi 
Lama. ‘Two days later we had lost twenty-nine horses and six mules, 
twenty-nine horses and thirty mules being left. Eighteen sheep still 
remained. On the same day, Tundup Sonam shot two fine Ovis Ammon. 
He was invaluable. Whenever the meat-supply gave out, he would 
shoot a yak, a wild sheep, or an antelope. One day he preceded us, 
surprised a herd of grazing yaks in a glen, and killed a bouncing 
specimen, that rolled headlong down a slope, and fell stone-dead at 
his feet. 


VRE TURK ISTAN 


kK 


WN 


MOUNTAIN RANGE AND PHYSICAL FEATURES OF TIBET 


Cra et TOR Po 
Marching with Death Through Northern Tibet 


INTER had come. All the men wore sheepskin jackets. 

They tanned the skins of the slaughtered sheep for bashliks 

and footgear. I slept on one half of a large, square, silky, 

white goatskin, and covered myself with the other half. 

Tsering tucked me up at night with furs and blankets. I had a soft 

skin bashlik, and at night I lay as if in a den. As long as I remained 

awake, Robsang kept my brazier hot with glowing dung. Even the 

puppies had sleeping-jackets of felt. Brown Puppy, having been fitted 

out with such a garment, walked slowly about for a while, making 

desperate attempts to free herself from it. We doubled up with laugh- 

ter, especially when White Puppy joined the sport, and tore at her coat. 

Then Brown Puppy squatted down and looked reproachfully at her 
tormentors. 

Tundup Galsan was the chief cook and story-teller for the men. 
Tsering, my cook, also never tired of telling stories to a small select 
group. But he was most amusing when he sang. It sounded like a 
pig caught in a gate. 

On October 17, it was —18°. I now had twenty-seven horses, 
twenty-seven mules, and twenty-seven men; but two horses and one 
sheep froze to death two days later. We had not seen a trace of 
human beings for fifty-nine days. Our apprehensions increased. Would 
we be able to keep enough animals alive until we met nomads? Or 
would they die, and require us to abandon our belongings, while pro- 
ceeding on foot in search of people? 

The terrain was obstructive; we were caught in labyrinthine moun- 
tains and valleys. At Camp No. 44 we were struck by a heavy blizzard, 
and were at a loss which way to turn. Our scouts suggested a pass 
in the east, and Mohammed Isa went there the next day, through snow 
a foot deep. On my arrival there (18,400 feet above sea-level), I 
found the main ridge to be quite close by, southeast of the pass; but 
Mohammed Isa had descended northeastwards by a snow-covered, deso- 

393 


306 MY LIFE AS AN EXPLORER 


late valley, in the lower part of which he had encamped. Neither 
fuel nor pasturage was in evidence, and our fire was kept alive with 
empty boxes. Heavy cloud-masses lowered upon the white moun- 
tains and again snow fell. Right above the camp was a small ridge, 
hardly forty feet high. One of the men directed my attention to it. 
There stood two fine wild yaks, observing us. They were as amazed 
as we, but they certainly looked impressive in the whirling snow. 

During the night, the horses chewed one another’s tails and pack- 
saddles. Two of them lay dead. The next camp was just as forlorn. 
Mohammed Isa went to reconnoitre, and returned with the news that 
there was open land three hours away. At twilight he had the un- 
fortunate impulse to continue on to the level, grassy plain. I stayed 
behind, with Robert, Tsering, and Rehim Ali. The others departed, 
in three sections, the shepherd and his sheep bringing up the rear. 
They disappeared like phantoms in the dark. It was terribly cold, 
but that did not matter; for we were buoyed up by the expectation of 
better times the next morning. 

We had two poor mules with us. One of them died at midnight; 
the other one was so far gone by morning, that we released it with. 
a knife-cut. Its glistening eyes looked toward the sun, and shone like 
diamonds. The red blood looked lurid against the white snow. 

We followed in the trail of the others. Soon we met Tundup 
Sonam, who told us that the caravan had lost its way in the darkness 
of the night, that the several sections had missed one another, and 
that four mules had died. We continued with him as guide. There 
lay a dead mule, the two bags of rice that it had borne lying near by. 
In the distance). Mohammed Isa appeared; he was out reconnoitring, 
with two men. At last we reached the plain, where the grass was fairly 
good. We dismounted, and, half dead with cold as we were, built a fire. 
By and by, the various sections came together in our sad Camp No. 47. 
Sonam Tsering turned up first, with the surviving mules. He wept at 
our losses. That night had claimed seven mules and two horses. The 
shepherd had lost complete track of the others, and took his sheep 
into a ravine, where he settled himself in the centre of the herd, to 
keep warm. It was a miracle that the wolves did not find their way 
to the place. 

We made a rough estimate of our train. Thirty-two loads, twenty- 
one horses, and twenty mules remained, four of the latter being useless. 


MAR CGTUNG Wi ie AT A 397 


Only I and Robert continued to be mounted. I decided that five of 
the remaining seven loads of rice should be sacrificed to the animals. 
Everything depended on them. ‘Tundup Sonam brightened this sad 
state of affairs by shooting three antelopes. When some of the men 
went to cut up the quarry and prepare the meat, one antelope had 
already been devoured by the wolves. 

Two mules and one horse succumbed during the march on October 
24. Our situation became graver every day. Silence reigned around 
the fires. We made camp on a small lake, on the shore of which we 
found dried grass and an open spring. At ten o’clock in the evening, 
a flock of wild geese, bound for the south, flew toward us. ‘The land- 
scape was illuminated by the most brilliant moonlight, and the weather 
wascalm. From the quacking conversation of the wild geese, we learned 
that they intended to descend and rest at the spring. But perceiving 
that the spot was occupied by human beings, the goose leader screeched © 
a new word of command to his troops, and, with lively chatter, they 
rose again and continued southward to the next spring. Doubtless such 
communities follow the same routes over Tibet for thousands of years, 
on their way to and from India, in the autumn and spring. 

The big dapple horse that I rode when we left Leh, was tired; 
and so I mounted a small white Ladaki, a friend of mine. He bit and 
kicked as I touched the saddle; but once I was up, he walked with 
sure, steady steps. In two places we saw the common stone tripod on 
which yak-hunters cook. We were approaching human life after sixty- 
five days of isolation. Everybody was on the lookout for black tents. 
‘The longer it took to get in touch with nomads, the later would rumour 
of our approach reach Lhasa. And yet we longed for people, for our 
surviving horses and mules could not hold out long. Water was scarce. 
Sometimes we were obliged to melt ice in the pans, so that the animals 
could drink. 

We made a short march to Camp No. 51, in stormy weather and 
bitter cold. I was so exhausted that I could hardly sit in the saddle, 
and we stopped twice to make fires of dung. As soon as the tent was 
ready, I crawled in and lay down on the bed as I was. I developed the 
most violent ague, a throbbing headache, and a temperature of 106.6°. 
Robert produced the Burroughs Wellcome medicine-chest, that blessed 
store, which the same firm had also given to Stanley, Emin Pasha, 
Jackson, Scott, and others. Robert and Tsering undressed me and kept 


398 MY (LEEEB AS cAN SB ROR tak 


watch during the night. In my delirium I was far from Tibet. Thus 
I lay crushed for eighty-four hours. Robert would read aloud. For six 
days a storm raged. ‘The dust blew into my tent, in which a candle 
flickered at night. The wolves were bold, and Tundup Sonam shot one 
of them. A raven that pecked the horses’ manes also had to be killed. 
Many of the men were sick. Of the fifty-eight horses, sixteen survived. 
On November 3, I was able to proceed, well wrapped up. We 
frequently came upon old camping-places and pot-stones for cooking. 
Two. days later we found traces of gold-mines and indications of 
digging for the metal. There was a 
path apparently beaten by human be- 
ings. A herd of wild yaks grazed in a 
narrow glen. Tundup Sonam led the 
way. Except for an old bull, as big as 
a young elephant, the yaks fled up the 
glen. The bull advanced with lowered 
horns toward the huntsman, who hardly 
had time to betake himself to safety on 
a terrace. From there he brought the 
yak down with two well-aimed balls. 
I took several photographs of the beau- 
tiful animal. 
On November 7, we had an unusual 
adventure. Occupying myself with col- 
lecting mineral specimens, charting the 
Bu ie Ct alu! Aase a lon FOULE And sketching and photographing, 
I was always at the tail-end together 
with Robert on serine and Rehim Ali on foot. The latter used 
to hold my horse when I dismounted. We were riding along a lake- 
shore, with a steep mountain-wall on our right. Two herds of wild 
sheep appeared. Here and there were cairns built by prospectors. We 
emerged on a plain, and fifty yaks that were grazing there fled. A herd 
of twenty Pantholops antelopes appeared before us, and vanished like the 
shadow of a cloud, as we approached. Presently we sighted Camp 
No. 56, half a mile ahead of us. In a few minutes we would be 
there. The smoke was already rising from the fires. A big black yak 
was grazing scarcely two hundred paces from the camp. Mohammed 
Isa came out of his tent and sent a bullet into the animal. The 


MARCHING WITH DEATH 599 


wounded beast became furious; and, catching sight of us and conclud- 
ing that we were enemies, he made straight for our little group. Rehim 
Ali uttered a cry of despair and ran for dear life toward the tents. 
But he changed his mind and turned. Our horses shied and started 
to gallop off. Rehim Ali caught Robert’s horse by the tail. The yak 
was quite close. He foamed with rage. He rolled his blood-red eyes, 
his blue-violet tongue hung out, his breath issued from his nostrils like 
clouds of vapour, the dust whirled behind him. He rushed forward 
with lowered head; and as I was riding on the extreme right, it was 
my horse that he would first impale, and throw it and me in the air, 
after which he would trample us to a pulp. In imagination I could 
already hear the crunching of our breaking ribs. The yak was within 
fifty feet of us now. I threw off my bashlik to distract his attention. 
He took no notice of it. I unfastened my girdle, intending to throw 


IN ANOTHER MOMENT HE WOULD HAVE TAKEN ME AND MY PONY ON HIS HORNS 


the sheepskin coat over him, and thus blind him, when he was close by. 
I felt like a toreador at a bull-fight. Only a tiny step separated me 
from death. Before I could get free from the coat, a piercing shriek 
was heard. It was Rehim Ali, who had stumbled, and he was now 
prone on the ground. The yak, diverted by this, turned to Rehim Ali. 
With horns lowered, he rushed upon his victim. But whether the 
yak thought the man was already dead, or considered him to be harm- 
less—for Rehim Ali never so much as budged—the yak contented 


400 MY LDRE tAS ALN BOR DO ae Bak 


himself with prodding Rehim Ali with his horns, and then continued his 
wild career across the plain, and took himself rapidly off. » 

I turned at once, dismounted, and hurried to Rehim Ali, believing 
him to be dead. He lay still, tattered and dusty. Upon my asking 
how he was, he made a comical gesture with one hand, as if to say: 
“Never mind me. I am already stone-dead.” Presently help arrived 
from the camp. Poor Rehim Ali really looked most miserable. He 
had a long, but harmless gash along one leg. He was lifted up on a 
horse, his wound was dressed, and he was cared for in a tent. Hence- 


fy 


iy j (yh 
A} y i iy Pe cf 
PS So lif 
) 


bop 


THE FIRST NOMADS WE MET 


forth he was to ride. But the event certainly made him a bit queer, 
and it was long before he became normal again. 

At the next camp, we lost a day by having to retrace our steps 
to the north, because of a pack of wolves that chased our horses back. 
On November 10, we saw the fresh tracks of a man and a tame yak 
on a lake-shore; and, while prospecting for game, Tundup Sonam came 
upon an isolated tent, in which a woman and three children lived. And 
two days later, after we had lost three horses and still possessed only 
thirteen, our mighty hunter brought two mounted Tibetans to our camp. 
These were the first men we had seen in eighty-one days. 


MARCHING WITH DEATH 401 


They might have been fifty and forty years old, respectively. The 
elder was named Puntsuk, the younger Tsering Dava. They were half 
nomads, half yak-hunters, and called themselves changpa (northerners). 
All of northern Tibet is known as Chang-tang, or the North Plain. 
They called me bombo-chimbo (the Great Chieftain). They were 
dirty, their hair was long and untidy, their caps were made to protect 
their cheeks and chins, they wore warm sheepskin coats and felt boots, 
and they were equipped with rude swords, fire-steels, and rifles, but were 
entirely destitute of—trousers | 

Did they want to sell us some of their yaks and sheep? Yes, with 
pleasure! They would come back the next morning. But we did not 
quite trust them, and kept them prisoner in Mohammed Isa’s tent over- 
night. In the morning, a few of my men accompanied them to their 
camp. ‘The whole party soon returned, with five fine yaks, each of 
which was to bear the loads of two of our worn-out horses, and also 
with four sheep and eight goats. We paid them generously; for they 
had indeed saved us. 

They told us all they knew about the region and about their own 
wanderings. ‘They lived on old, hard, dried, raw meat, butter, sour 
milk, and brick tea. Hiding behind small stone walls, next to springs, 
they would lie in wait for their game. ‘Tsering Dava swore that 
he had shot three hundred wild yaks in his day. ‘They made boots 
and straps of the wild asses’ skins, and thread from the tendons of the 
wild beasts. They and their women took care of the tame yaks, the 
sheep, and the goats. ‘Thus their lives passed monotonously from 
year to year, but healthily and actively, on the dizzy heights, in killing 
cold and storms and blizzards. ‘They erected votive cairns to the 
mountain-gods, and venerated and feared all the strange spirits that 
dwelt in the lakes, rivers, and mountains. And in the end they died, 
and were borne by their kin to a mountain, where they were left to the 
wolves and the vultures. 

On November 14, we went on, Puntsuk and Tsering Dava acting as 
guides. They gave me the geographical names, and we verified their 
statements, Mohammed Isa questioning Puntsuk, and I Tsering Dava, 
identical questions being put to each. They told of gold-seekers 
(topka) who work two or three months a year, and bring home loads 
of salt, which they trade for grain. They would count and play with 
the shinv silver rupees that I gave them every evening. Their small 


402 MY LIFE AS AN wEX POO KEK 


horses amused me. When I and Tsering Dava got to the camp, 
Puntsuk had already put his horse out to pasture. But upon our ar- 
rival, he came galloping to meet his comrade, neighing joyfully, and 
then they exchanged greetings by rubbing noses. The Tibetan horses 
took a genuine interest in our horses, and did not seem to understand 
that our emaciated, wretched animals were of their own species. It 
was interesting to observe the delight with which these little ponies 
ate dried meat, cut in long strips. In a country where pasturage is so 
meagre, the nomads have to train their horses to become meat-eaters. 

One day Tundup Sonam shot two wild yaks. We took with us as 
much meat as we needed. ‘The rest we left for Puntsuk and Tsering 
Dava; but as likely as not, the wolves got it first. 

Then we rode across the Chakchom-la pass, the altitude of which 
is identical with that of Popocatepetl in Mexico (17,950 feet). It 
was crossed by the usual gold-seekers’ trail. At our camp, south of 
this range, our new friends begged me to let them return; for they 
had never been farther south. They were granted their release, and 
generous tips besides, and seemingly they had never dreamed of the 
existence of such kind people as we were. 

One day later, from another pass, we sighted six tents, surrounded 
by grazing herds. We camped on the shore of Lake Dungtsa-tso. The 
tents housed forty persons, who owned a thousand sheep, sixty yaks, 
and forty horses. Lobsang ‘Tsering, a lame old man, offered us three 
fine-looking yaks, at twenty-three rupees apiece, and one of his com- 
rades offered us two at the same price. ‘Thus we had ten yaks in all, 
and were able to relieve our other beasts considerably. Lobsang Tser- 
ing looked handsome in his red skin coat and red turban-like head- 
dress. He told of the gold and salt deposits in this region, which were 
exploited by people from Lhasa. He himself, and all the other nomads 
there, were from the district of Gertse, in the southwest. They seemed 
desirous of assisting us, but were afraid of one another. Yet it was 
evident that they had not received any special orders from Lhasa. 

With our fourteen mules, twelve horses, and ten yaks, we came 
upon a highroad, on November 22. Its existence was attributable to 
the gold-seekers and their yaks, and to the salt-caravans with their 
sheep. The daily storms were a torment. Wrapped up like Arctic 
explorers, we rode through clouds of whirling dust. Our skin cracked, 
especially around the nails, where we developed chronic sores. And 


NOASR COHAN GeoOW eli DD EA TSH 403 


at night there was a rumble and a roar, as of great trains rolling into 
covered railway-stations, or of heavy artillery rushing at full speed 
over cobbles. 

Four mules died the next day. The temperature at night dropped 
to —28°. Once more we made camp, near a village of six tents, en- 
closed by stone walls. The dwellers belonged to the Province of 
Naktsang, and took their orders from the Devashung, or the govern- 
ment in Lhasa. Mohammed Isa tried to negotiate the purchase of 
some yaks and sheep; but some official or other entered the tent and 
forbade the people to sell us anything. He knew that a European 
was concealed in our caravan, and advised us to go back at once. 

‘Here is where it begins,” thought I. ‘Now a swift messenger 
will be dispatched to Lhasa, and then will follow the usual espionage 
and charges, and finally the mobilization of the mounted militia.” 

Not far from this critical place, we met a caravan of thirty-five 
pilgrims from Nakchu, who, with six hundred sheep and one hundred 
yaks, had been to the holy mountain of Kang Rinpoche (Kailas), and 
were travelling so slowly that the round-trip took two years. At our 
next camp we found two spies on watch. A mule died during the 
night, and was immediately half eaten by five wolves, who did not 
run off, even when I rode quite close by them. 

We hurried on as fast as our exhausted animals could walk. One 
evening, when we were camping among wild rocks, two horsemen 
approached our tents. Their queues were coiled round their heads, 
which were adorned with red fillets. Red and green ribbons orna- 
mented their coats, their sword-sheaths were set with semiprecious 
stones, and their boots were made of many-coloured felt. They said 
they belonged to the caravan of the Nakchu pilgrims, and this state- 
ment sounded more plausible when they said: 

“You are the peling (European) who came to Nakchu with two 
companions five years ago. The name of one of them was Shereb 
Lama.” 

“That is correct.” 

“You had camels and Russians in your caravan. The whole province 
talked about you.” 

“That’s nice,’ thought I. “Now the governors will soon know 
that I am on my way, and then they will stop us.” 

“Have you any yaks to sell?” I asked. 


404 MY; LIFE) AS AN VEX PLORER 


“Yes. We will be back, early to-morrow morning; but nobody 
must know that we sell to you.” 

“All right, you come; we will not tell anybody.” 

And before sunrise they arrived with yaks, butter, brick tea, and | 
tobacco from Bhutan. 

“T will give you three rupees a day each, if you will come with us,” 
said I. 

‘No, thank you!” they replied. ‘‘Word is being sent south to stop 
you, and to force you westwards, the same as last time.”’ 

And so they were off. And we, owners of eighteen yaks now, 
went southwards, by way of a pass, on the other side of which we found 
the country covered with snow. With Robert and Haji, I rode far 
behind the caravan, as we crossed a plain. Pointing toward the pass 
behind us, Haji exclaimed: ‘“Three galloping horsemen!”’ 

‘“‘Now we are really in for it,” I thought. ‘The horsemen headed 
straight for us. A heavily-built man demanded authoritatively that 
we give an account of ourselves. We, in turn, asked who they were. 
After further questioning, they went on to the caravan, which had 
already encamped, and there they subjected Mohammed to a severe 
examination, and rode westward. 

On December 4, we rode through a stretch where hundreds of 
wild asses were grazing. When we got to the Bogtsang-tsangpo, a 
river that I knew from my former journey, we were only 15,600 feet 
above sea-level, which was unusually low for us, but actually higher 
than the top of Mt. Rainier. We lost no time in establishing friendly 
relations with the natives, who willingly sold us food. And it was 
high time; for our own supply of rice, flour, and toasted flour was gone. 
I was still getting my daily small roll of white bread, but the men 
subsisted on meat and tea. 

We had not yet been deprived of liberty. This was the very 
road I had passed in 1901, and just south of the Bogtsang-tsangpo 
was the beginning of the large white spot, the main objective of my 
expedition. But again a cloud fell on our expedition. The next day, 
six men came riding up to our camp. The highest among them was 
Gova, or head of the district. He said: 

“T have got information from the north about you. And now I 
want to know everything. Last time you passed through this area 
with camels. I am now going to send a messenger to the Governor 


MOAR C EPUN Gr Wort sD EAL TR 405 


of Naktsang, otherwise he will cut my throat. Bombo Chimbo must 
stay here till the answer arrives.” 

‘When will that be?” 

‘In twenty days.” 

“No, thank you! Ihave not the time. We will go on to-morrow.” 

The old man was kind and pleasant. He accompanied us down 
the river, pitched his tent next to ours, and offered no objection to 
our being assisted by the nomads. The latter assured me that all 
Naktsang knew of my present journey. 

It was December 13, when, from a pass, we sighted the long- 
looked-for lake of Dangra-yum-tso. I had ordered the post-courier 
‘to its southern shore, and we were already half a month late. Never- 
theless, I decided to go first to the Ngangtse-tso, a lake a little further 
east. 

Near the camp was the opening to a gorge so narrow, that in 
spots we were able to touch the two mountain-walls simultaneously. 
I and two of the men took a walk there. Robsang was to call for us 
with yaks. He looked very downcast when he met us at the appointed 
time, and told us that twelve armed horsemen had come to stop us. 

We had advanced only a few days’ journey into the unknown coun- 
try, and now my path was obstructed as before. All our suffering 
during the winter, all the dead animals—all had been in vain. I rode 
back to my tent in a gloomy mood. When Tsering entered with the 
glowing brazier, I said: 

“Now you see that I was right when I said that we would be 
stopped.” 

“Stopped!” he exclaimed. ‘Nobody has stopped us.” 

‘“‘Robsang says that twelve horsemen were here.” 

“Fle misunderstood; that was only a rumour.”’ 

“Good! Then we will slaughter the leanest sheep and have a feast 
to-night !”’ 


CPD AYP AERO 
Through the Large White Spot—Unexplored”’ 


were decidedly friendly, told us that a robber-band from Nakchu 

was abroad in the north, and declared they had taken us for the 

robbers. ‘They were pleased to meet nice people instead. One 
of them had seen me five years before, and remembered my being es- 
corted by Tibetans on that occasion. They did not mind selling us 
some yaks, and also provided us with a guide. 

We bought three splendid yaks; and so our last ten horses and 
two mules were now without burdens. Upon entering the Province 
_ of Naktsang, we met a big band of horsemen, with a great number 
of yaks. “They will stop us at the very border,’’ was my thought. 
But not so; they were only harmless nomads from the Bogtsang- 
tsangpo, who had been south to buy goods. A few days later, how- 
ever, we came upon some tents, the inhabitants of which shouted im- 
pertinently at Mohammed Isa: “Go back. You have no right to 
travel here.” Upon which Mohammed Isa drew himself up, and let 
the most insolent of them have a taste of his riding-whip. After that 
they were as meek as lambs. 

On the morning of December 24, I was awakened by a lugubrious 
song. An itinerant beggar and his old woman sat outside my tent, 
singing and swinging their magic staff. A small boy was our guide, 
and took us across a pass. A man led my dapple horse over the sum- 
mit. I patted the faithful animal as I passed it, hoping that his 
strength would hold out to our next camp. The horse sighed heavily, 
and gazed after me, when I rode on. But he never reached the camp. 

The Christmas Eve trudge was a long one; and the evening shadows 
were already stealing over the foot of the mountains, as we descended 
into the circular valley, where the Dumbok-tso, with a small rocky 
island in its centre, gleamed white with ice. The Christmas-fires showed 
their yellow flames some distance from the shore. The day’s work 
done, I wanted to do something to celebrate Christmas. Robert had 

406 


it the evening, three more Tibetans rode up to our camp. They 


THE LARGE WHITE SPOT 407 


saved about forty candle-stumps; so we arranged them in rows on a box, ~ 
and lit them. I summoned all my men, and had them seat themselves 
before the closed tent. All of a sudden we threw back the tent-flaps 
and surprised the men with this unexpected illumination. ‘They fetched 
flutes and pots and pans, and started to play, sing, and dance. The 
nomads in the neighbourhood probably thought that these rites and 
incantations were part of a witches’ service. But our young guide 
believed that we had gone mad, and asked permission to go home 
to his tent. The Lamaists sang a song in honour of Tashi-lunpo; and, 
when the noise subsided, I read the Biblical passages, appropriate to 
Christmas, that were being read that evening in every church of Sweden 
and the rest of Christendom. 

Camp No. 97 was pitched on the northern shore of the Ngangtse- 
tso, a large, shallow salt-lake discovered by Nain Sing, an Indian pundit. 
At this very place we crossed his route. The pasturage was fair, and 
I wanted my animals and men to have a good rest. Some of the 
strongest men, however, were to work with me. We were going to 
sound the depth of the Ngangtse-tso, which was thickly frozen over. 
It certainly was taking chances to spend time here, when we should 
have been penetrating the forbidden country by forced marches. But 
the animals had to rest, and the lake had to be sounded and charted. 

We made a sledge, on which I sat cross-legged, muffled up in my 
sheepskin coat. Robsang and Haji pulled. Seven other men carried 
our provisions and a small tent across the ice. At suitable intervals 
we pierced the ice and dropped the lead through the holes. Our first 
camp was made on the southern shore. The second trip took us 
northwestward; and we had great difficulty crossing open water in a 
fissure almost five feet wide. On December 31, we made Camp No, 
100, on the western shore. There a shepherd was tending five hun. 
dred sheep. On seeing us, he ran off at full speed, and left the sheep 
to their fate. . 

On January I, 1907, we crossed the lake diagonally, south-south- 
eastwards. A strong wind swept the powdered salt along on the shiny 
dark-green ice. We sighted tents, tame yaks, and wild asses on the 
southern shore. A severe storm broke. My Ladak men sat round their 
fire in the open, making a picturesque group in the flying dust and the 
diffused moonlight. 

On January 2, we crossed the lake, going southwest against a 


408 MY: BIFE | AS VAN) (Ae OR ok 


strong head-wind. I remained seated on the sledge at one of the holes, 
when it was carried off by the storm-wind and blown along over the 
lake like an ice-yacht. Had it not been that a crack caused me to 
capsize, I probably would have been driven across the entire lake 
at that wild speed. At the camp, we fastened the sledge securely. 
Finding some sheep-dung in a pen, we made a fire; but it took us an 
hour to thaw out. We looked a sight. Our faces were as white as 
those of a miller, from all the salt-powder. 

We drove northeast after that, a glorious wind being with us. 
The powdered ice spurted from the runners. We bought food from 
the nomads. White Puppy was with us, and kept me company. On 
January 4, we saw a black spot on the ice in the distance. It was 
Islam Ahun, who, with a letter from Robert, had been looking for 
us for two whole days. The letter said that a troop of armed horse- 
men had arrived, in order to stop us, and that they insisted on speaking 
with me. 

So they really did mean to stop us, as in 1901. I had now reached 
my southernmost point, and the gates of the land of the holy books 
were being slammed ruthlessly in my face; for, 


“The gates are mine to open 
And the gates are mine to close, 
And I set my house in order, 
Said our Lady of the Snows.” 


The next day, we made soundings along one more route, which 
disclosed the deepest spot in the whole lake, only thirty-three feet. 
Another messenger arrived, with this message: “The governor him- 
self is expected in four days. We are strictly guarded.” Was it Hlaje 
Tsering, as before? Why had I not gone to the Dangra-yum-tso, as 
I had first intended, and thus avoided the Naktsang region? 

On January 6, we made soundings along the final route. While 
we were thus engaged, Mohammed Isa himself came. He told me 
that twenty-five Tibetans were tenting at our camp, and that mounted 
messengers were coming and going. Nobody had heard of any courier 
with post for me. I had appointed November 25, at the Dangra- 
yum-tso, and now it was already January 6. But then, why should 
Colonel Dunlop-Smith comply with my request to send my letters to 
Tibet, when he knew that the British government had done every- 


THE EARGE WHITE (SPOT 409 


thing to prevent my journey, and I had eventually gone to East Tur- 
kestan on a Chinese passport? 

On January 7, we were called for with horses, and rode to Camp 
No. 107, a short distance from the northeastern lake-shore. I sat 
down in Mohammed Isa’s tent and received the Tibetan chiefs. They 
bowed deeply, their tongues hanging out. One of them had been 
present when Hlaje Tsering intercepted me on my former expedition. 

“Is Hlaje Tsering still Governor of Naktsang?”’ 

“Yes; and he knows that it is you who have come back. He has 
sent word about you to Lhasa. He will be here in four days, and 
you must wait till then.” 

In the evening of the eleventh, troops on horseback arrived, and 
a large blue-white tent was pitched. The next day the Governor, with 
a young lama, called on me. The Gov-. 
ernor wore a Chinese cap, with two fox- 
tails and a white glass button, a silk 
caftan, with wide sleeves, otter-skin col- 
lar, earrings, and velvet boots. He 
greeted me warmly; in fact, we were 
not far from embracing each other. 
But he was inflexible in his command: 

“You must not travel through Nak- 
tsang, Hedin Sahib. You must go back 
north. Though we are old friends, I 
don’t want any fresh trouble on your 
account.” 

“Hlaje Tsering,” I replied, “I started 
out on this journey with one hundred ! LABONG 
and thirty beasts of burden. I have J pub ah SUA eee 
eight horses and one mule left. How “1 am very cLap To sEE YOU AGAIN, 
can you melee: to go Rack to thet HEDIN SAHIB,” SAID HLAJE TSERING 
murderous Chang-tang with such a caravan?” 

“You may go wherever you wish, but not through my province.” 

“The Dalai Lama has fled. There is a different régime now than 
when I was in Tibet before. The Tashi Lama is expecting me.” 

“T only take orders from the Government in Lhasa.” 

“I am expecting letters from India that are to come to me through 


the Tashi Lama.”’ 


410 MY LIFE AS “AN JVEXPLORER 


“T have no proof of that. I shall not leave this place before you 
are on your way north.” 

‘And I shall not depart until I have got my post from India.”’ 

I saw now that I ought to have gone to the Dangra-yum-tso, which 
is outside the Province of Naktsang, and that the only thing I could 
do now was to go back to the Bogtsang-tsangpo and from there to the 
Dangra-yum-tso. 

Upon returning to his tent, Hlaje Tsering sent me rice, butter, and 
other victuals as a gift of welcome; and I gave him two pieces of 
goods and two Kashmir knives. Then I returned his call in his large, 
beautifully-decorated tent, where we continued negotiating. He did 
not object to my sending two couriers to Captain O’Connor in Gyangtse. 
Rub Das and Tundup Galsan were to be ready by the following 
evening. But nothing came of that; for the Governor visited me 
again the next day, and this time he had changed his mind. To my 
extreme amazement he said: 

“T have discussed the matter with my trusted men, and we have 
agreed that the only thing for you to do is to leave and go south 
to the region of Labrang (Tashi-lunpo). I ask that you resume your 
journey to-morrow.” 

What had happened? What did he mean? Had he received or- 
ders from Lhasa? I did not trust my ears, but kept my countenance, 
and said quite coolly: 

“All right; I will go south, if you will get me some new beasts of 
burden.” 

‘You may buy them from the nomads. Your road runs east of 
the Ngangtse-tso.”’ , 

After the customary return-call, we repacked our luggage carefully. 
Hlaje Tsering was greatly interested in that procedure, and asked for 
the empty boxes that were left over. He got a lot of leather boxes and 
several other odds and ends. He deserved them all; for he had opened 
the land of the holy books for me to pass through. 

January 14 was a memorable day. When the sun was near the 
meridian, there was an eclipse of nine-tenths of its surface. For three 
hours I observed the phases with the theodolite, and noted the tempera- 
ture, direction of wind, etc. ‘The sky was perfectly clear. It grew half 
dark, and general silence prevailed. ‘The Tibetans hid in their tents. 


EE ACG Big Wii Tn oP OF 411 


The Ladakis mumbled prayers. The sheep returned from pasture. The 
ravens perched, inert and drowsy, as though night were near. 

As soon as the phenomenon had ended, I went to Hlaje Tsering’s 
tent. 

‘There you see,” I said, “that the gods of the Dangra-yum-tso are 
angry because you wanted to close my way to their lake.” 

But he smiled superiorly, and replied: 

“Tt is the big dog roaming about the sky, who sometimes obscures 
the sun.” 

As we sat talking, the tent-door burst open, and in came Robsang, 
his heart in his mouth. 

‘’The post has come!”’ he shouted. 

‘Who brought it here?” I asked, with imperturbable calm. 

‘‘A man from Shigatse.”’ 

‘“‘What has happened?” asked Hlaje Tsering. 

“Oh,” I answered, “‘it is only the Tashi Lama, who has sent my 
post here.”’ 

Hlaje Tsering sent one of his confidential men out to verify my 
statement. The man questioned the courier, who told him that Duke 
Kung Gushuk, brother of the Tashi Lama, had ordered him at all 
hazards to go and find me. He had learned from the nomads where 
I was. 

Now it was Hlaje Tsering’s turn to be astonished. He opened his 
eyes and mouth wide, and just stared. At last he said: 

‘Well, I have nothing more to say, now that I know the holy Tashi 
Lama himself is expecting you. The way is open to you. The day 
after to-morrow I shall go home to Shansa-dsong.” 

“Did I not tell you that my letters would come from the Tashi 
Lama?” I replied. 

I took my leave, hurried to my tent, and received Ngurbu Tundup, 
the splendid courier. The precious post-bag had been sent from Cal- 
cutta to Gyangtse, and on to the Tashi Lama, with the request that 
he forward it to the Dangra-yum-tso. Fortunately it had been delayed, 
as we had been. 

Piles of letters! Good news from home, newspapers, books! Re- 
lations with the outer world were re-established. I devoured the let- 
ters and papers. The Ladakis arranged for dancing and music in the 
evening; and I went out to them for a while, and made a speech in 


412 MYORTPFE VAS VAN? GER One 


Jageatai Turki, thanking them for their steadfastness and faithfulness 
during the past winter. Now they would get their wages, and soon 
they would see Tashi-lunpo and the holiest man in Tibet. 

With —13° inside the tent, and wolves howling outside, I lay 
reading half the night. All day long, on the fifteenth, I went on 
reading. On the sixteenth, good old Hlaje Tsering departed. We 
exchanged gifts once more, he mounted his horse, and after mutual 
adieus of real regret, he disappeared with his escort’ over the nearest 
hillocks. 

This was a great victory for me. I would cross the eastern portion 
of the vast white spot which no European or pundit had yet traversed. 
All the obstacles in my way were as if swept away. 

We purchased three new horses from the nearest nomads, and 
proceeded to the southeastern shore of the lake. A wild ass that had 
been torn by wolves lay there. The cold went down to —30°. 

We had a splendid view of Lake Marchar-tso from our next 
camp, in a valley. White Puppy anda black dog from Pobrang were 
absent, having remained with the wild ass. I sent two men to fetch 
them; but the dogs were gone, and never came back. Two days later, 
two stray dogs joined our wandering band. One of them was old, lame, 
and shaggy, and the men tried to drive him off with stones; but he 
followed us to the next camp, and after that, for hundreds of miles; 
he became everyone’s favourite. He kept fierce watch over the tent- 
city, and was simply called ‘“[The Lame.” 

We rode through a labyrinth of winding valleys with frozen water- 
courses and dark ranges that had never before been recorded on a 
map, nor even been seen by a white man since Noah left his ark. The 
nomad name for the main ridge was Pabla. We approached it in stormy 
weather, with frequent whirling snows. In every pass, we found cairns, 
with streamers, bearing the six holy syllables, fluttering from clusters 
of votive poles. The Sela-la, 18,060 feet high, was the highest and 
most important pass on the whole way. It is situated on the great 
watershed that separates undrained interior Tibet from the Indian 
Ocean. All of the water that flows south from its ridge empties into 
the Tsangpo, the upper Brahmaputra. 

Descending the pass, we met three men, with seven horses, pre- 
sumably stolen, for the men made a great detour upon seeing us. A 
day later we encountered seven heavily-armed men, who asked if we 


DHE tb ARG E UWHL RE: 3S POF 413 


had seen any robbers with stolen horses. Upon hearing that we had, 
they spurred their mounts and went up the pass. 

We hired twenty-five fresh yaks, so as to cover the ground more 
quickly. The terrain was very unfavourable. It became evident that 
we would have to cross a series of passes, situated in reaches of the 
Pabla, all of them almost as high as the Sela-la. Running westward 
among them were frozen affluents of the My-chu, a tributary of the 
Raga-tsangpo, which empties into the upper Brahmaputra. The Shib-la 
was the first of these secondary passes. The road was a very important 
highway. We were often met by caravans of yaks, horsemen, nomads, 
hunters, pilgrims, and beggars. There were votive cairns and mani 
walls all over. We approached a large religious centre. ‘The nomads 
were all friendly; for Ngurbu Tundup, who had rapidly preceded us, 
had given us a good character. 

After crossing the Chesang-la pass, I left the exhausted yaks from 
Chang-tang that belonged to us in the care of Tundup Sonam and 
Tashi, whom I instructed to follow us slowly. Had I had any idea 
of that which I learned later, I would have left the entire caravan 
behind, and pressed on to Shigatse with three or four men. But we 
had no apprehensions, and took things calmly. 

Every step here led to a discovery; every name was a new addition 
to our knowledge of the earth. Until those days in January, 1907, 
this section of the earth’s surface had been as little known as the 
other side of the moon. Familiarity with the visible side of that 
satellite was far greater than with this complicated mountain-land. 

A steep road led to the pass of Ta-la, 17,800 feet high. Before its 
cairn and pennants, both Tsering and Bolu prostrated themselves, their 
foreheads touching the ground, and worshipped the mountain-spirits. 
The view to the southeast was magnificent. The reaches of the moun- 
tains, of various colours and shades, stretched like bears’ paws down 
toward the valley of the Brahmaputra; and on the other side, or south 
of the gigantic valley of that river, the ridges and peaks of the Hima- 
layas appeared dazzling-white beneath a light-blue sky, with fleecy white 
clouds. Were we to succeed, after all, in cutting all the way through 
the unknown country down to the great Holy River? 

On February 5, we passed a village. From out of its reed tents, 
forty Tibetans came to greet us. They stretched their tongues out 
as far as possible, held their caps in their left hands, and scratched 


414 MY LIFE, AS XAN, BX PLORER 


their heads with the right. These various mancuvres were performed 
simultaneously. 

The following day found us at the cairn on the pass of La-rok, 
14,560 feet high. Thus we had dropped 3,300 feet since leaving Ta-la. 
The river resembled a narrow ribbon in the distance, and we were 
closer to the Himalayas. But Mt. Everest, the highest mountain on 
earth, was not to be seen: it was shrouded in clouds, 


CHCA PBR onls 
The Pilgrims’ Journey on the Holy River 


the valley widened. We were now no higher than 12,950 feet. 

The houses about us were white, with streamers on the roofs. 

The monasteries Tashi-gembe and Tugdan beckoned to me. 
Here ran the great highway to Shigatse, Tashi-lunpo, and Lhasa. 
Hundreds of Tibetans surrounded our tents, to sell us sheep, fat, but- 
ter, milk, radishes, hay, barley, and chang (beer made from barley). 
And here, too, splendid Ngurbu Tundup presented himself, with greet- 
ings of welcome from Kung Gushuk, the Duke. 

Should we rest a day? No; we could recoup in Shigatse. So, 
onward! | 

And on we went, past villages and barley-fields. Not the smallest 
part of the heavy traffic on this road was due to pilgrims on their way 
to the New-Year festivities in Tashi-lunpo. The road ran down along 
the north bank of the Brahmaputra, or Tsangpo (the River). The 
water, transparent and noiseless, glided in its bed. It was holy. We 
drank of it. In the village of Rungma, we saw our first trees since 
leaving Leh. Here we stopped, and had camp-fires that were fed 
with real wood. 

On February 8, the narrow, picturesque way ran along the moun- 
tainous northern bank. The river was full of clattering drift-ice. Sit- 
uated on a high terrace of detritus, the village of Tanak afforded a 
magnificent view up and down the valley. 

Our last day dawned on the journey to the famous monastery. 
I gave Mohammed Isa orders to stick to the road with the caravan. 
Robert, Robsang, and I went by way of the river. We hired a boat, 
one of those funny, simple craft that can originate only in a country 
where wood is scarce. Only the gardens contained a few trees; and 
no wild forests grew at these altitudes. 

The boat, of a rectangular shape, was made of four yak-hides, 
sewed together, and fastened to a framework of light boughs. A 

415 


NROM La-rok we rode down a steep road to Ye-shung, where 


416 MOY Tob RE AS oaASNG OHA ei OCR iaae 


triangular piece of leather was fastened in the forked end of the oar, 
making it look like a duck’s foot. After the boatman has taken his 
passengers, say, from Tanak to the opening of the Shigatse valley, 
he takes the boat on his back, and returns along the road to Tanak. 
The current, running four or five feet a second, is too swift for anyone 
to row up the river. 

Guffaru was to wait for us, with horses, where the highway crossed 
the river. My journey on the Tsangpo was a strategic move on my 
part. It permitted me to pass unobserved by spies; and, in the event 


RTS ESE STM 
he A . 
= . Seon 


Sener, eee 
fs 


IN A YAK-HIDE BOAT ON THE UPPER BRAHMAPUTRA 


of last-minute instructions from Lhasa to stop me, the soldiers would 
only be able to capture Mohammed Isa and the caravan. It would 
have been quite a futile task to search for me on the river. 

We embarked. My eyes took in the approaching landscape, and 
I drew a map of the river’s course, the banks, and their surroundings. 
This was the Tsangpo, or simply “the river,’ as the Tibetans call the 
upper Brahmaputra (Son of Brahma). I rubbed my eyes, hardly 
believing that I had crossed the forbidden land. The water was trans- 
parent and light-green. We seemed to stand still, and the shores ap- 
parently moved past us at great speed. Looking down over the side 
of the boat, I could see the gravel and the sand-banks, at the bottom, 


JOURNEY VON ER e OLY sR RR 414 


rapidly unrolling beneath me. On the right, toward the south, the 
furthest ranges of the Himalayas towered high. In the north ap- 
peared the last offshoots of the immense mountain-system that we 
had just crossed by the Sela-la, and which had hitherto had no name. 
I called it the Transhimalaya, because it was on the other side of 
and beyond the Himalaya (Winter’s Abode). Every moment revealed 
the landscape in a different aspect. Owing to the sharp bends, we 
moved in all directions. At one moment the sun was right in our faces; 
at the next, on our backs. Now we skirted the foot of the north 
mountains, now those on the south. Wild geese, in long, grey bat- 


4 3 ae 

, Sawn Te cris = 

os mo ; a by nape deeaata Ce + 

. “5. b pie canis a ST a OIF! Spee fe 

; se : aS eu PITS ~ 

e paca \ —s onal DM ee oT +” t 

7 

By waste nT iggy ten ie DP 

are a 

ate \ ma eis 
8 is 


aie 
* 


ahoe 


} Ea MIE 


PILGRIMS ON THEIR WAY TO THE NEW-YEAR FESTIVAL IN TASHI-LUNPO 


talions, watched us from the bank. ‘They screamed as we passed them, 
but they did not stir. Nobody ever killed them, and so they were very 
tame. 

But entrancing and magnificent as these scenes were, I yet could 
not remove my eyes from the pilgrims’ boats, which, in long files, came 
gliding down the royal river. Now we rowed past them, now we 
paralleled one and the same boat for a long while. Occasionally we 
hugged the shore, to let new strings of boats pass. They were fre- 
quently lashed together, in twos or threes; and they carried peasants, 
villagers, and nomads, with their women and children, going to the im- 


418 Mii SL EF ES AS SAIN’ SBOP OR Bak 


minent New-Year festivities in Tashi-lunpo. They were in holiday- 
attire, red, green, or dark-blue. The women wore high, arched frames, 
like aureoles, on their heads, adorned with coral and turquoise; and 
the long, red, green, and yellow ribbons hanging from their braids 
down to their heels were covered with ornaments and silver coins. 
Here and there a bareheaded lama, in his red monk-gown was seated. 
The occupants of the boats all seemed to be congenial. They gos- 
siped, smoked, had tea and food. Rods, with prayer-streamers at the 
top, were fixed to the gunwales. These appeased the river-spirits and 
assured a happy journey to the pilgrims. Groups of boats were seen 
up and down the river, strewn about like coloured islets. They did 
not detract from the beauty of this malachite-green waterway that lies 
between the highest mountain-ranges of the globe. 

Once in a while the shore disclosed a cairn with a streamer-decked 
pole. These indicated the points at which the river could be crossed, 
and at which ferries—always the light boats made of yak-hides—were 
available for travellers and their caravan-beasts. Living, the yaks 
carry the nomads across the mountains; after death, they serve to 
transport human beings on the Holy River. 

Sheer black granite mountains, close by, descended into the river. 
We flew past one promontory after another. Along a path at the foot 
of one of them, on the southern shore, some men were advancing up 
the river, their boats on their backs. From behind they resembled 
strange-looking, gigantic beetles. We observed fishermen busy with 
their nets. Their catch was placed on sale by Chinese dealers. We 
asked them to bring us some of the fish intended for the next day’s 
market in Shigatse. 

“How far have we still to go?” I enquired of our good skipper. 

“Oh, it is still far! Behind the farthest point is the road to 
Shigatse.”’ 

I lost myself in reverie. No spies, no soldiers were in sight. The 
water rippled in narrow streaks, but did not eddy. I was thinking of 
the nine hundred miles on the Tarim. This time we could employ the 
motive power of the water only for one day. Or—the thought en- 
tered my head for a moment—should we continue down the valley, 
to the point where the Ki-chu River joined the Tsangpo, go ashore 
at the junction, buy three horses, and ride to Lhasa? 

No! The longing I had had, in 1901, to penetrate the Holy City 


TOU RON Te SOON ie Be ea oak Ti VeR Ry) 449 


in disguise, was completely gone. The charm of the unknown had 
passed. A whole corps of officers, and thousands of Tommy Atkinses, 
had been there with the Younghusband and General MacDonald ex- 
pedition, only three years before. Ryder, Rawling, Bailey, and Wood, 
the correspondents of the big newspapers, and, above all, Colonel 
Waddell, the learned connoisseur of Lamaism, had been with them.? 

Some villages appeared on the right bank. Rows of newly-arrived 
rowboats were lying there; and heaps of hay, dung, and produce were 
piled up, awaiting transport to Shigatse by caravan-animals. And in 
the midst of the crowd of Tibetans stood Guffaru, with four of our 
horses. 

Our boatman received his pay and a little more. We mounted our 
horses and rode up the Nyang-chu valley, which led to Shigatse. The 
sun went down; the shadows grew longer.. We had no guide, but 
found our way easily. The pilgrim-procession and the caravans showed 
us the road. We were the objects of much attention, but nobody made 
a move to interfere with us. I rejoiced in the twilight and dark. No- 
body noticed us then. A tall white chorten stood on our right; and 
a little further along, on an isolated hill, rose the Shigatse-dsong, the 
mighty citadel of municipal authority. Would we be halted and appre- 
hended, as we entered the city? No. Presently white houses were 
seen faintly through the dark, on both sides. We were in a street in 
the city of Shigatse. 

A man approached me. Ah, it was our own Namgyal! He led us 
to a gate in a wall, behind which lay Kung Gushuk’s garden. Here 
Mohammed Isa and the other men met us. There were also some 
Tibetans there, Kung Gushuk’s servants. They took me to a house 
just inside the gate. It had been prepared and tidied up for my use. 
But I preferred my tent in the garden. Our airy dwellings were already 


1Two years ago, another Englishman went to Lhasa. His achievements are criticized 
in the Geographical Journal. He lectured in Europe and America, and published a book. 
A San Diego newspaper that was sent me advertised him in these terms: “Lecturer with 
real story will tell how he entered city closed to ‘heathen dogs!’ Said to be the only 
white man who ever entered Lhasa, the capital of Tibet.” But shortly before him, Mr. 
Bell had lived a year in Lhasa, and General Edward Pereira had just been there. Major 
Bailey had visited the city. Dr. H. Hayden, a geologist, had lived for six weeks in 
Potala, the Dalai Lama’s palace. Two mechanics had spent one and a half months 
installing telephones in that palace, and two English officials were for some years em- 
ployed in the telegraph-office in Lhasa; not te mention Younghusband’s military expedition 
to Lhasa, or the succession of Catholic missionaries who had been there in years gone by. 


420 MY OLD BES (AS AN (aR oe Kener 


set up. A fire was burning in front of them. I sat down by my tent 
and asked myself if I was dreaming. 

Late in the evening, a member of the Tashi Lama’s secular staff 
called at my tent, put a number of questions to me, and made notes. 
Afterwards, I had my supper, and went gloriously to sleep in the city 
of Shigatse. 

The next morning, I looked about and inspected our extraordinary 
camp. We had arrived.here with six horses and one mule from Leh. 
One of the horses now lay dead in his stall, and was dragged away. 
His tragic fate made me grieve. For half a year he had endured in- 
numerable hardships in Chang-tang, only to succumb at the very goal. 
He had crossed passes at almost 19,000 feet; and now he had died 
in front of his filled crib, at a height of 12,700 feet. The last six 
veterans were cared for with the greatest solicitude. We made them 
beds of straw, so that they might lie soft, in case they wanted to rest. 
They were to have their fill of barley and clover, be watered, and 
lightly exercised, so as not to become stiff. Among them was my little 
white Ladaki that had carried me through so many storms. I went 
into his stall and stroked him, but he only bit and kicked. 


GRAPH Ee Ree Ts EE 
With the Tashi Lama at the New-Year Festival 


Chinese called on me. He was an officer, in command of the 
Jansa of a hundred and forty men garrisoned there. I invited 
him to my tent, and offered him tea and cigarettes. His name 
was Ma. Ma could not understand where I had come from. He said 
he believed I had fallen from the sky. He had not heard a sound. 

‘Had I known that you were approaching Shigatse,” he said, “I 
would have stopped you with an armed force; for this city, like Lhasa, 
is closed to Europeans.” 

I laughed and joked with Ma, and asked him what in the world 
we were to do, now that I was actually safe and sound, right in Shigatse. 

On February 11, early in the morning, I was visited by Lobsang 
Tsering Lama and Duan Suen, a Chinese. They, too, had been with- 
out the slightest knowledge of my approach; and they probably thought 
that I had risen from the ground. ‘They, too, made inquiries and notes. 

“I know,” said I, “that the New-Year festival begins to-day. It 
is my desire to witness it.”’ 

‘That is impossible for a European.” 

“T also wish to meet the Panchen Rinpoche (the Tashi Lama).”’ 

“Only a very few mortals may appear before his face.” 

It occurred to me to disclose my Chinese passport, for the benefit 
of Duan Suen. He read it through attentively and with increasing 
interest. His eyes grew larger and larger, and finally he said: 

“But this is a wonderful passport! Why did you not show it to 
us at once?’ 

“Because it is made out for East Turkestan, and I have come to 
Tibet instead.” 

“That does not matter. This paper is of great importance.” 

They withdrew. Soon I received a token of welcome from the 
Tashi Lama, in the shape of a kadakh, or haddik, a long piece of light- 
blue gauze, the delivery of which implied respect, blessing, and wel- 

421 


| HAD hardly finished my round of inspection, when a plump, jovial 


422 MOY OD LEE AS ASN TG Pr roe 


come. And what was more, I was solemnly bidden to the monastery 
to attend the New-Year festival. Now I blessed the Indian government 
which had insisted on the Chinese passport. Without it I should prob- 
ably never have gained permission to see Tashi-lunpo. To this day 
I am puzzled at having made my way unnoticed to Shigatse. It may 
have been due, in part, to the Tibetans’ respect for European weapons 
since the English military expedition to Lhasa, in 1903 and 1904; 
perhaps, also, to the fact that so many chiefs and others had betaken 
themselves to Tashi-lunpo for the New-Year festival, and were thus 
absent from their posts when I passed with my caravan. Another pos- 
sible reason was my travelling by water on the last day, and arriving 
after dark. I was fortunate, also, in getting there two days before the 
New-Year festival began; for it gave me the opportunity to witness 
the greatest annual rite of Lamaism, and this in the monastery that was 
the most important in the entire world of Lamaism, because the Dalai 
Lama was away in Urga. 

Losar, or the New-Year festival, is celebrated to commemorate 
Buddha’s victory over the six false prophets, and the triumph of true 
religion over unbelief. A feast of the whole people, it celebrates the 
return of spring and light, the victory over cold and darkness. The 
seeds sprout once more; the grass shoots up for the nomads’ herds. 
For fifteen days the festival goes on. Pilgrims from far and near 
flock to Tashi-lunpo, and on every hand is heard the buzz of the 
six holy syllables, “Om mani padme hum.” 

Tsaktserkan, a chamberlain, appeared with further messages of 
welcome from the Tashi Lama, and informed me that he and Lobsang 
Tsering Lama had been commissioned to attend me during my sojourn 
in Shigatse. 

I dressed in my best, and Mohammed Isa put on his gorgeous, 
red, festive robe and gold-embroidered turban. Robert, Tsering, and 
two other Lamaists were allowed to accompany me. We rode to the 
monastery in about twelve minutes. Pilgrims swarmed in all directions. 
Along the road were small stands, where sweetmeats and other edibles 
were offered the guests from afar. 

We dismounted at the gate of the lamasery, and left our horses. 
Then we ascended a steep street, paved with large, dark flagstones, 
smooth and shiny from the feet of innumerable pilgrims throughout 
the centuries. On either side were tall dormitories; and above it all 


ASLVOIHS JO ALIO AHL AGISLNO AOOU ATLLIT GALVIOSI SLI NO DNOSG-aASLVDSIHS 


THE NEW-YEAR FESTIVAL 423 


rose the beautiful white-facaded ‘Vatican,’ the Tashi Lama’s private 
residence, with dark window-frames, a black-and-red-striped frieze at 
the top, and small balconies. We were taken through a labyrinth of 
dark rooms and passages, up slippery wooden steps that were almost 
vertical, through galleries and halls, where daylight began to filter in, 
and where clusters of red monks were silhouetted against the light. 
At last we were led out to a gallery, on the very edge of which a chair 
was placed for me. 

From there I had a fine view of the courtyard where the festival 
was to be held. Verandas, or open galleries, ran along its four sides, 
and columns rose in several tiers. There were uncovered balconies at 
the top. Immediately below us there was such a balcony. There sat 
the pilgrims, gossiping and eating sweets, strangers from Ladak, Bhutan, 
Sikkim, Nepal, and Mongolia crowding together. The officials, in their 
beautiful, variegated dresses and pompous hats, formed a group by 
themselves. In another balcony were their ladies in equally festive 
attire. Everywhere, even on the temple-roofs, people were crowded. 
Deep down was the paved court, with a tall pole, hung with multicol- 
oured ribbons, erect in the centre. From the courtyard, stone stairs 
led to the Red Gallery, concealed by heavy black curtains, woven of 
yak-wool. | 

Two monks appeared on one of the uppermost roofs, and produced 
a hollow sound on sea-shells. 
Then the monks drank tea. 
From the interior of the Red 
Gallery came the tones of a me- 
lodious chant of choristers. It 
rose and fell in waves. ‘The gal- 
lery of the Tashi Lama, above 
the Red Gallery, was marked by 
a wide hanging-curtain of yellow 
silk, gold-fringed. Through a 
small square opening in that 
hem, the holiest of all the priests 
Ghelibetuwasito witness eoerferiannen ty ne siiots eee 
tivities. 

Great, hollow trumpet-blasts announced that the Tashi Lama had 
left the Labrang. A murmur passed through the waiting crowd. The 


424 MY “oD aA Ss AON Bee Oa 


procession arrived. It was headed by the chief monks, carrying the 
insignia of the Holy One. And then he himself appeared. All rose 
and bowed low. His robe was of yellow silk; and his headgear, of 
heavy, woolly material, resembled a Roman helmet. He sat down, 
with crossed legs, on some cushions, his mother, his brother (the 
Duke), and several high prelates seated on his right and left. They 
all moved slowly, with deliberation and dignity. 

Some monks set a table before me. It bent underneath its burden 
of sweetmeats, tangerines, and tea. They informed me that I was 


THREE TOMBS OF TASHI LAMAS IN TASHI-LUNPO 


the Tashi Lama’s guest. My eyes met his. I rose and bowed, and 
he gave me a friendly nod. 

Now the ceremonies began. Two masked lamas moved down the 
stairs of the Red Gallery, with dancing steps, and went in mysterious 
circles about the quadrangle. Eleven others followed, each carrying 
a folded flag. Each flag was unfolded and elevated on a long, forked 
pole, in salute to the Grand Lama. The flags were of various colours, 
and three strips of a different colour hung from each one. 

This strange procession received new accessions. Now came a group 


TEEPE! NEW YEAR ORES TEV AG 425 


of lamas in white, bearing various religious symbols. Some had swing- 
ing censers of gold, from which blue-grey smoke arose. Others were 
arrayed in harness and other accoutrements; and still others in cloaks 
of gold-embroidered silk. Then followed the church-music. This con- 
sisted of six copper trumpets, ten feet long, and bound with yellow 
brass, their bells resting on the shoulders of novices. The trumpet- 
blasts resounded solemnly and sonorously in the courtyard, and mingled 
with trilling flutes, clashing cymbals, bells, and the dull beats of forty 


THE DEVIL DANCE 


drums, carried vertically. The musicians, wearing yellow mitres, seated 
themselves on one side of the court. 

A lama came out on the stairs of the Red Gallery, bearing a bowl 
brimful of goat’s blood. Gyrating in a mystic dance, he poured the 
blood over the steps. Was it a survival of the superstitious human 
sacrifices of ancient pre-Lamaist times? 

Twelve lamas, in masks, simulating devils, dragons, and monstrous 
wild beasts, entered the courtyard, and began their circling, demonic 
dance. The music continued unceasingly. The tempo increased; the 
dancers accelerated their steps. The magnificently gold-embroidered, 
multicoloured silk vestments stood out like open umbrellas. They wore 


426 MY ‘LIFE "AS: AN* BX PL ORG 


square collars, with a hole in the middle for their heads; and these, 
too, stood out horizontally from their necks. They held fluttering 
ribbons and streamers in their hands. And all the time the music grew 
wilder, and the dancing became more furious. It was more than enough 
to make one giddy. The enthusiasm of the pilgrims rose. They pelted 
the dancers with rice and barley. The monastery pigeons rejoiced at 
that. 

A fire was lighted in the court. A large sheet of paper was held 
close to it. On this paper was written all the evil of the past year’ 
of which one wished to be purged. A lama advanced with a bowl, con- 
taining an inflammable powder. He recited some incomprehensible 
formule of incantation, and described mystical motions with his arms. 
The paper was brought closer to the flames. The lama emptied the 
contents of the bowl into the flames, causing the fire to blaze up and 
consume the paper and all the evil which had tormented the children 
of man during the previous year. The multitude shouted with joy. 
The last number on the program was an ensemble dance of sixty lamas. 

The Tashi Lama then rose, and retired as slowly and solemnly 
as he had entered. The pilgrims dispersed like chaff before the wind. 

On my return home, a whole caravan of mules, laden with rice, 
flour, barley, dried and fresh fruit, and other viands, entered my 
garden. It was all a gift of welcome from the Tashi Lama, and 
indeed a valuable one; for those supplies were sufficient for me, my 
men, and animals for an entire month. In the end, Tsaktserkan ap- 
peared and announced that His Holiness expected me the following 
morning. 

Accompanied by my interpreter, Mohammed Isa, and two high 
lamas, I traversed the apartments, passages, and stairs of the Labrang. 
One of the highest dignitaries of the monastery, a small, fat man, 
with a head as shiny as a billiard-ball, received me first. His cell 
was resplendent with solid and splendid luxury, altars, bookcases, tables, 
and stools, all of shining lacquer. Images of Buddha, of silver and 
gold, stood in precious cases of the same metals, and the perpetual 
lights flickered in their bowls. He presented me with an idol, and I 
gave him a dagger in a silver sheath. 

After an hour, a message arrived, saying I might proceed toward 
the highest regions of the ‘‘Vatican.” Little knots of lamas stood 
whispering in the corridors and halls. We arrived. None but Mo- 


THE NEW-YEAR: FESTIVAL 427 


hammed Isa could accompany me. We entered the room, which was 
larger but much plainer than that of the fat man. Half of it was 
exposed to the sky; the other half, a step higher, had a roof. In a 
small alcove, on the right, the Holy One was seated, with crossed 
legs, on a bench fastened to the wall. He was looking through a 
small, square window, that opened out over Shigatse and the valley. 
Before him stood a table, with a teacup, a telescope, and some printed 


th 


i 
| Wet 


OA Pin) 
(Wh, * Gf, 
i Ae 


LV la? reel | if 

Ai i GL aoe a a , 
| ao co 137 
\ 


i MN \ i My ‘ 
sf Neate . ie \ ay A 
Nt) ni Vay 


ae 

‘ 

\\\ 
AN 


| Wp WEA NR 
iy At aN 


vy 
: \ ‘ \ ’ 
‘Wy 


Vai 


STEEP STAIRCASES AND OPEN ALTARS ON THE WAY TO THE 
TASHI LAMA 


sheets. His garb was that of an ordinary lama, differentiated only 
by the yellow gold-embroidered vest. His arms were bare. 

With an expression of the utmost kindness and amiability, he gave 
me both his hands, and motioned me to the European chair beside him. 
Now I could observe him at close quarters. I forgot that he was not 
good-looking, according to our standards; for his eyes and his smile, his 
great unpretentiousness, his soft, low, almost shy voice, captivated me 


— 428 MY “YLIFE (AS CANS TEx eb OE 


all the while. He begged pardon for the simplicity of the reception; 
but I assured him of my happiness merely to be in ‘[ashi-lunpo, and 
to be his guest. 

Then we conversed for fully three hours. It would be banal to 
relate in detail what we talked about—my journey, Europe, China, 
Japan, India, Lord Sahib (Minto), Kitchener, and a thousand other 
things. He told me of his visit to Lord Minto a year before, and 
of his pilgrimage to the places that had been sanctified by the events 
of Buddha’s life and wanderings. —Two lamas of menial rank stood 
bolt upright in the roofless part of the chamber. ‘Twice the Tashi 
Lama dismissed them with a wave of his hand. That was when he 
wished to say or to ask something he did not want them to hear; as, 
for instance, when he requested me not to let the Chinese know that 
I had been his guest, or that he had disclosed the secrets of the temple 
to me. He said that I had full freedom, and that I might go about, 
photograph, draw, and take notes, wherever and whenever I wished 
to do so. He was my friend; and he himself would give orders to the 
brethren who were to guide me through the monastery. 

At the age of six he had come to Tashi-lunpo, and for nineteen 
years he had held his present high office. In Tibet he was called 
Panchen Rinpoche (the Precious Teacher), while the Dalai Lama in 
Lhasa was called Gyalpo Rinpoche (the Precious King). These two 
titles themselves indicate the difference between the spiritual and the 
worldly power. The Dalai Lama has greater political power, for he 
rules over all Tibet, with the exception of the Province of Chang, 
which is under the rule of the Labrang in Tashi-lunpo, i. e., of the Tashi 
Lama. But the latter is regarded as holier and more proficient in the 
holy scriptures. The Dalai Lama, who had fled during the British 
campaign, in 1903, was still absent at the time of my visit; and the 
Tashi Lama was therefore the mightiest man in Tibet. This explains 
why England tried to win his friendship and confidence by inviting him 
to India, where he received a lasting impression of the power and 
splendour of empire. 

The two prelates stood in a certain reciprocal relationship to each 
other. The Tashi Lama acted as a tutor to the infant Dalai Lama, 
instructing him in the religion and the contents of the sacred scriptures. 
Similarly, the Dalai Lama cared for a new Tashi Lama. The Tashi 
Lama was an incarnation of the Dhyani Buddha, of the present age 


VWVT HSVL JSaYld AHL OL 
WOAITOSAYW AHL LHOW aHL LY ‘VAWVI IHSVL JHL dO NVOLLVA AHL Lda FHL OL “IVAILSAA UVSOT AHL LY SGMOUD AHL 


THE NEW-YEAR FESTIVAL 429 


of the world (Amitabha), but represented also the supernatural rebirth 
of the reformer Tsong Kapa; for the latter, too, a contemporary of 
Tamerlane, was an incarnation of Amitabha Buddha. The Dalai Lama, 
on the other hand, was an incarnation of the Bodhisattva Avalokitesh- 
vara, whose Tibetan name is Chenreisig, the representative of Sakya- 
muni Buddha, the patron in our age of all living things and of the 
Buddhistic church, and the patron saint of Tibet. 

The Tibetans thus believe in the transmigration of souls (metem- 
psychosis). When a Tashi Lama dies, and his soul—i. e,, the soul of 
Amitabha Buddha—begins its wanderings, it lodges in a boy born 
simultaneously with the death of the Holy One. 

Inquiries are made all over the Lamaist world. Several years may 
pass before all the replies come in. The parents must particularly give 
information as to whether any miracles or omens accompanied the 
birth of their boys. Hundreds of replies come to Tashi-lunpo, and are 
investigated. The most plausible ones are selected, and tested again. 
In the end, there remain only a few, among which the true, new Tashi 
Lama must certainly be. The names of the boys are written on strips 
of paper and placed in a covered golden bowl, and a high Lama picks 
out a strip at random. The name thereon indicates the holy successor 
to the throne of Amitabha Buddha. 

The audience came to an end at last, and I bade Mohammed Isa 
produce the Burroughs Wellcome aluminum medicine-kit. We had pol- 
ished it till it shone like silver, and had wrapped it in yellow silk cloth. 
It pleased the Grand Lama. I had great difficulty, later, in explaining 
to two medical lamas how to employ the remedies in various illnesses. 
Everything had to be written down in Tibetan. We retained a suf- 
ficient supply of the more valuable medicines for our own needs. 

Finally, the Tashi Lama bade me farewell, with the same friendly 
smile. Neither he himself nor I believed he was a god. But it was a 
noble and gentle human being who followed me with his eyes, until the 
door closed behind me. 

Thereafter, all Shigatse talked of the unusual honour that had been 
bestowed upon a stranger. And upon returning to their homes, the 
pilgrims told of it in their valleys. It proved to be of great use to me 
at times, of greater value even than a passport. And I blessed the 
good Grand Lama, when the nomads, more than once, exclaimed: ‘Ah, 
you are the friend of the ‘Tashi Lama!” 


CMA WE Ree tid 


Our Experiences in Tashi-Lunpo and Shigatse 


ASHI-LUNPO is a gompa, an “abode of solitude,” or mon- 
astery. It is a cloister-and-temple town of at least a hundred 
separate houses, a labyrinth of whitewashed stone houses, with 
bands of red and black colour along the roofs. The houses are 

separated from one another by narrow lanes and steps. ‘The Labrang, 
the ‘‘Vatican,’’ with its beautiful facade, rises above them all, against a 
background of wild mountain-ridge, at the foot of which the monastery 
lies. In front of and below the Labrang is a row of five gilt-roofed 
pagodas, in Chinese style, mausoleums of departed Tashi Lamas. The 
monastery was founded in 1445. The mortuary pagoda of the first 
Grand Lama rises above the court where festivals are held. Its in- 
terior is dim. One can see the high pyramid-like chorten of silver and 
gold, set with precious stones, the sarcophagus of the late prelate. 
The dead man sits embedded in salt, for lamas must die in a sitting 
position, like that of Buddha. 

From this tomb we went to the last resting-place of the third Tashi 
Lama. His name was Panchen Lobsang Palden Yishe. Amitabha 
Buddha dwelt incarnate in his body between the years 1737 and 1779. 
It was he who conducted lively negotiations with Warren Hastings, 
Governor-General of India, and in consequence was invited by the 
suspicious Emperor Chien Lung to Peking, where he died. A plate over 
the entrance of the tomb bears his name in brilliant colours. 

The tomb of the fifth Tashi Lama, the gift of pilgrims, stands 
open. A string of nomads pass there and prostrate themselves on the 
wooden floor, before the row of idols, holy offering-bowls, and lighted 
tapers on the altar-table in front of the sarcophagus. 

Outside each mausoleum is a court, from which a wooden staircase, 
in three flights, leads up to an open veranda, or entrance-hall, the walls 
of which bear paintings of the four spiritual kings. They are pictured 
as wild beasts and dragons, surrounded by flames and clouds, their 
hands holding weapons and religious symbols. Solid doors, of red- 

430 


TASHI-LUNPO AND SHIGATSE 431 


lacquered wood, with yellow brass-work, open from this hall into the 
sepulchral chamber. 

A jovial old man kept watch in the temple of Tsong Kapa. A 
carved representation of the reformer, smiling and many-coloured, as 
if rising from the petals of the lotus flower—indicative of his divine 
origin—was displayed in the large chamber. Tsong Kapa was the 
founder of the Gelugpas, the “sect of the virtuous,” the ‘“‘Yellow Caps,”’ 
a large sect, to which all the most important monasteries and the chief 
lamas belong. He founded the Galdan, Brebung, and Sera, the large 


PILGRIMS WORSHIPPING AT THE TOMB OF THE FIFTH TASHI LAMA | 


monasteries near Lhasa; he introduced celibacy; and he rests in Galdan, 
in a sarcophagus that is suspended in the air. The monks chant and 
mumble their religious hymns before him, beat drums, and tinkle brass 
bells. Iwo lamas appeared and offered me tea and present-greetings 
from His Holiness, who hoped that I would not tire myself. 

It would take too long to relate all my experiences in Tashi-lunpo. 
I look back on that wonderful time with wonder and delight. One 
day, the Tashi Lama, seated on his pontifical throne, along the narrow 
side of the court of ceremonies, was listening to a theological disputation, 


432 MY LTEE oS) SA Ni SRax PIO dea 


in which he himself occasionally joined. After that there was a feast, 
for which the tables had been set. The Holy One was served tea from 
a pot of gold, the others from pots of silver. ‘Then he descended the 
staircase to the Red Gallery, supported by two monks, a third one 
holding a yellow sunshade over him. 

We looked into the dormitories, to see how the monks lived in their 
plain cells. And we descended into the kitchen beneath the Red Gallery, 
where tea for thirty-eight hundred monks was brewed in six enormous 
cauldrons. Loud signals were made with seashells as the hour for tea 
arrived. During my saunterings in the monastery-town, I sometimes 
saw the Tashi Lama walking in a procession to or from some sacred 
function. Once we entered the Kanjur-lhakang, a large hall, with an 
impluvium, in which the Kanjur, or holy scriptures, in a hundred and 
eight volumes, was housed. At long benches and tables, young lamas 
were being instructed by a Kampo-lama. There were four lamas of that 
degree in the monastery, but only two of the Yungchen degree. The 
young monks intoned rhythmically. Time and again a handful of rice 
was cast over them. For a few rupees they would chant an extra 
prayer for the peace of one’s soul—and I did not fail to avail myself 
of the opportunity to buy such a song. 

On February sixteenth, the Tashi Lama asked me to come to the 
Labrang to photograph him. He was just giving his blessing to a 
procession of pilgrim nuns. Again we conversed for nearly three hours, 
mostly on matters of geography. When we parted, he presented me 
with piles of goods made in Tibet, gold-embroidered cloth from China, 
gorgeous red hangings that still decorate my rooms, bowls and teacups 
of copper and silver, and finally a gilded image, wrapped in yellow 
silk, representing the Amitabha Buddha, “he who has an immeasurably 
long life.” This last gift was a symbol of his wish that I might long 
survive. 

Thus I wandered about daily in the monastery, making sketches and 
taking photographs. All the lamas were friendly and courteous. In 
all the corners and under the eaves there were bells. Falcon-feathers 
were attached to the tongues of these bells; and as the wind passed 
over the cloister-city, melodious chimes were heard. 

The New-Year festivals are not limited to religious ceremonies; 
for the pilgrims are human beings, and they must be amused. One 


Tee TS EOLN SP, On SUING Sores GATE Sok 433 


day the crowds betook themselves to a field outside Shigatse, where 
seventy gaily-attired horsemen galloped at full speed on a race-course, 
shooting at small targets with arrow and bow, all the while riding at 
a furious pace. After the game, I invited all the competitors to tea 
in my garden. One evening, my friend Ma celebrated the Chinese 
New Year in his yamen, with fireworks; and there were lanterns of 
tissue-paper, in the shape of big dragons and horses, which wound 
their way through the crowds. 

The houses in Shigatse are white, with red and black bands at the 
top. The flat roofs are guarded by parapets. Like the temple-roofs, 
they are adorned with bundles of twigs and stubble, dressed up in 
cloth. These are supposed to drive away demons. In the yard, a 
large, red-eyed watch-dog, savage as a wolf, is tied by an iron chain. 
The house of Kung Gushuk, the Duke, 
was the nicest we saw. There ‘were 
rugs, couches, bookcases, altars, and 
tables in its rooms. The duke’s wife 
was a handsome woman; and I had the 
honour of drawing her portrait. | 

When I was not in the monastery, 
I was busy sketching types from far and 
near. All kinds of persons came to our 
garden—mendicant nuns and _ friars, 
dancing-boys, and spies. One day a 
lagba, or corpse-cutter, paid me a visit. 
The despised caste of corpse-cutters live 
in the village of Gompa-sarpa, not far 
to the southwest of Tashi-lunpo. When 
e ° THE WIFE OF DUKE KUNG GUSHUK AND 
a lama is dying, prayers are said. When _ sisrer-1n-LAw OF THE TASHI LAMA 
death has come, the prayers for the dead 
are said. For three days the deceased is left in his cell. Then one 
or two brethren carry him to Gompa-sarpa. They strip the corpse and 
divide the clothes among themselves. The monks then hurry off, while 
the lagbas take charge of the body. They pass one end of a cord 
around its neck, the other end being fastened to a post in the ground. 
Then the corpse is pulled straight and skinned. The vultures are 
waiting for that moment, and in a few minutes the skeleton is laid 
bare. The bones are then crushed to powder in a mortar, and the 


434 MY LIFE AS AN EXPLORER 


bone-dust is mixed with the brains. The Jagbas knead the mixture 
into balls, to be thrown to the vultures. Many monasteries keep sacred 
dogs, who take the place of the vultures. Laymen are treated about 
the same way. When my Jagba related these customs, Mohammed Isa 
paled, and asked leave to retire. | 

I stayed in Shigatse forty-seven days. Gradually the warmth and 
hospitality toward me cooled. Many lamas were displeased with my 
frequent visits to the monastery; and the Chinese were ill-disposed 
toward me. The worst center of gossip in Shigatse, one where there 
was much talk of me, was the square where the Tibetan merchants 
had booths, and women vendors, in red head-dresses, were seated on 
the ground, with the Chinese, Ladakis, and Nepalis doing business in 
their own establishments. Spies in disguise would appear in my garden 
and lounge there all day long. Already on the fourteenth of February, 
I received a visit from a lama and an official from Lhasa. They told 
me that a scout-patrol of spies had sought me around the Dangra-yum- 
tso and the Ngangtse-tso for twenty-two days, finally getting on our 
track, and arriving in Shigatse thirty-six hours after us. That meant 
that we had been within a hair’s-breadth of failure. Another party had 
been sent from Lhasa to intercept us. 

Now the two gentlemen from Lhasa were seated in my tent. They 
declared that according to the treaty between Tibet and Great Britain, 
only three frontier-towns in Tibet were open to the ‘‘Sahibs,”’ under 
certain conditions. These were Gyangtse, Yatung, and Gartok. I re- 
plied: ‘To begin with, I never signed that treaty. Secondly, I am 
already in Shigatse, thanks to your negligence. And, thirdly, I am the 
friend of the Tashi Lama, and thus inviolable.”’ 

They left, baffled. But they returned frequently, to keep informed 
about us, and to report to Lhasa. Or they would send their spies to 
watch us. But we ourselves kept disguised Ladaki spies spying on the 
spies of the Lhasa spies. 

I heard no more from the Tashi Lama. For political reasons he 
had to be cautious. In the end, I had only one friend left in the 
country, Captain O’Connor, in Gyangtse. He was above political in- 
triguing; but he helped me privately in every way. He exchanged 
my gold for silver; he sent me boxes of provisions; he forwarded my 
post to and from India; and he gave me a whole library of highly 


~ 3% 


PAS TTT GUNG OV NAe NT DY ST TGA ToS’ FB: 435 


welcome literature. Our acquaintance was maintained solely through 
correspondence; but I shall never forget the gratitude I owe him. 

I was burning with impatience to be off. Yet I stayed, day after 
day, in order to extort the most favorable conditions for my subsequent 
movements. One day I received a laconic letter from Gaw Daloi, 
China’s representative in Gyangtse. He simply sent me a copy of a 
few clauses in the Anglo-Chinese treaty, one of which read: ‘No 
representatives or agents of any foreign power shall receive permission 
to visit Tibet.” My reply ran something like this: “If you want 
information about me and my plans, you had better address yourself to 
Captain O’Connor, instead of sending me impertinent letters.”’ 

A. new letter from Gaw Daloi said: ‘Under no condition may 
you go to Gyangtse.”’ 

“Certainly not,” thought I; “Tl take good care not to!” But I 
answered: ‘‘Whatever treaties may have been made between Great 
Britain and Tibet do not concern me in the least; for I am in Tibet, and 
our arrangements must proceed from that point.’’ Gaw Daloi answered: 
“I have received orders from my government to send you immediately 
across the Indian frontier, should you come to Gyangtse. My govern- 
ment would be greatly obliged to you for being so good as to return 
the same way you came.”’ 

If I had gone to Gyangtse, I should, of course, have stayed at 
O’Connor’s house. A Chinese official threatening to arrest a guest 
of the British agency! Ina letter to me, O’Connor treated the thought 
with derision. 

Ma was in despair. He had been reprimanded by the Amban, Lien 
Darin, in Lhasa, for not having stopped me. The Lhasa authorities 
advised the monks of Tashi-lunpo to treat me coolly. An exchange 
of notes was now going on between Lhasa, Shigatse, Tashi-lunpo, 
Gyangtse, Peking, Calcutta, and London. I was hard pressed, the 
quarry of four governments. Yet I won out in the end. 

On March fifth, Gaw Daloi advised me to write to Tang Darin, 
the Imperial Chinese Chief Commissioner in Lhasa, and to the Amban, 
Lien Darin, requesting, as a favour, to be allowed to travel through 
Gyangtse. This right-about-face implied a stratagem. I, therefore, 
wrote to Tang that because of my disinclination to act contrary to the 
wishes of the Chinese Government by travelling to Gyangtse, I would 
go toward the northwest, as soon as they provided me with yaks. 


436 MY!cL DFE. (AS cA NY Be XP Nes 


And, to Lien, I wrote: “If you want to get rid of me, you should 
facilitate my return. I shall never go to India. My servants are 
mountaineers, and they would die there. They are British subjects, 
and I am responsible for them.” 

On March fourth, I made my last visit to Tashi-lunpo. The monks 
asked me not to come any more. After March twelfth, a heavy silence 
fell upon us. Ma, Tsaktserkan, and all our other friends had dis- 
appeared. No one visited us now. We were isolated. All intercourse 
with us was forbidden. I felt like a prisoner in my own tent. As long 
as I was in Tibet, I was tabu to the English; and no one could touch 
me, as long as I kept still. But as soon as I moved, I would actually 
be a prisoner; for then I would be surrounded by an armed escort. 
The longer I tarried, the more amenable they would finally become. 
Thus a week passed; and at last Ma, the two gentlemen from Lhasa, 
and some officials from Shigatse-dsong came to me, desiring to know 
by which road I would return. “Along the Raga-tsangpo to its source, 
and through the country north of the Tsangpo,” I answered. After a 
conference, they decided to accept my conditions and to take the 
responsibility upon themselves. 

After more conferences, and after the receipt of a polite letter from 
Tang and an equally polite document from Lien, the old men sof- 
tened. They visited me frequently in my garden, and equipped us with 
all that we needed. In the end, they also handed me a new passport 
for Tibet, asking me to indicate the points at which I intended to touch. 
But I took good care not to reveal my actual plars. 

On March twenty-fifth, the number of inhabitants in my tent was 
suddenly augmented by Brown Puppy’s delivery of four black puppies. 
I competed with the mother in the bestowal of affection, and rejoiced 
in the thought of future agreeable companions. ‘The next day, I bade 
adieu to Ma, and gave him three poor horses, as a reward for his 
pains and as a token of my gratitude for his not having prevented my 
progress. After that, only two horses and one mule remained of the 
hundred and thirty animals with which we had left Leh. We also had 
a few mules and horses, purchased in Shigatse. But the bulk of our — 
baggage was to be carried by hired yaks. An escort of two Chinese 
and two Tibetans, one from the Labrang and the other from Shigatse- 
dsong, was to accompany us. They brought their own men, mounts, 
and beasts of burden. 


MeA SEL Ts CIN: Pee ING Dae SS Pe GAGS EF 437 


Early on the morning of the twenty-seventh, I sent Mohammed 
Isa with a farewell message to the Tashi Lama, who returned hearty 
greetings and regrets that the superior power of the Chinese had 
prevented him from being of such service to me as he had wished. 

When we departed, a severe storm was coming from the west. 
No doubt the Tashi Lama was sitting at his small window, with field- 
glasses to his eyes. The waves of the ITsangpo were white-capped, and 
we had no easy time taking our horses across in the hide-boats. 


PILGRIMS WORSHIPPING 
KANG RINPOCHE , THE HOLY 
MOUNT KAILAS; FROME 
THE GREAT GRANITE | 


3eo a, « 


Sy 


(GOO tole aKa 


Be 


ne itinn 3 


nie “nl aS Z ( if 
% 
Ss x, 
. Ki 


any 
ran Ax Et eG 
EL 


fe CoN 


Wes 


V5) HOLY LAKE, 
AOR ) was @ 
<7 p> se A SHEAP 


yy CAR Ne. LT | 
ANE haat | 


Ke ip ANAS PICA S BD | 
on Bub oo ois oe 
erent AWoATA A Wianttty 


THE HOLY LAKE AND THE DEVIL’S LAKE 


CoH ALP OT Ei sv 
Strange Monasteries—W alled-in Monks 


AND my men soon got to be on very friendly terms with our 
escort, and I did my best to weaken the vigilance of the four 
guards. I gave them cigarettes, trifling gifts, and silver coins. 

The first result of this was that they made no objection to 
my advancing to the monastery of Tarting-gompa. Its /hakang (large 
divine hall) was most picturesque, in its subdued light, with its forty- 
eight red pillars, rising from a floor of large stone flags. The hospitable 
lamas of Tarting-gompa belonged to the heterodox Pembo sect. They 


TN Lae a ei GA 
AWA ie | sy | il ; \ 
\\ Ne HN 


HA i i 
2 
il i) 


‘ 
il 


i 


| WURLAS 
‘ i hs 
BEN 
Ww oONS 


FOUR LAMAS READING THE PRAYERS FOR THE DEAD 


had certain characteristics of their own. ‘They swung their prayer-mills 

contrary to the prescribed direction; and when pilgrimaging to temples 

and holy mountains, they moved in a direction opposite to that of 

clock-hands. This, according to the Gelugpas (the Yellow Caps), was 
| 438 


STRANGE MONASTERIES 439 


quite improper. However that may be, the view from their monastery, 
over magnificent mountains and wild valleys, was glorious. 

It was in 1832, or seventy-five years before, that Yundung Sulting, 
a five-year-old nomad boy, came to Tarting-gompa, entered as a novice 
with the religious name of Namgang Lama, and rose, step by step, 
until he had attained the highest degree, when he became known as 
Namgang Rinpoche. The evening before our arrival, he had passed 
away, and his corpse was still in its cell. I went there with two of my 
men. An old couple sat in the court, splitting wood for the funeral- 
pile. He was to be cremated in the valley, after which his ashes were 
to be taken to Kang Rinpoche, the holy mountain of Kailas. We en- 
tered the cloister-cell. Four monks were seated there, reading the 
prayers for the dead all through three days and nights. The deceased 
old man, a cloth around his forehead, and a many-coloured crown on 
his skull, sat on his bed, stooping 
slightly. Before him on the bed stood 
a stool, with images and two lighted 
candles. 

The four monks were dumbfounded 
at our entrance. Such sacrilege was 
unheard-of. But they said nothing. 
They mumbled their prayers without in- 
terruption. I stayed for a good while. 
I received a strange impression of the 
majesty of death. For seventy-five years 
Namgang Rinpoche had heard the chime 
of bells in the wind, and had seen the 
days and nights, winters and summers, 
come and go among those royal moun- 
tains. And now, at this very moment, |QA= ees 
his soul was liberated from the flesh, 
and had begun its migrations. And this THE GOD OF THE DEAD 
moment, the one of supreme importance 
to his fate, had been disturbed by our arrival. 

In Gandan-chéding, a convent with sixteen nuns, the dark, desolate 
temple-hall, with its six mighty, red pillars, afforded greater pleasure 
than observing the poor and dirty sisters, who were robed like lamas, 
and, like them, wore their hair short. 


SOSA AC 


440 MY SLTER 2S Ni Rio oR ae 


A most beautiful sight was the monastery of ‘Tashi-gembe, the white 
town at the southern foot of the Transhimalaya. In its main court 
stood a throne for the Tashi Lama, who visits the temple once a 
year. The divine halls were rich in precious images of Buddha and 
gold ornaments. The library contained the hundred and eight folios 
of the Kanjur and the two hundred and ‘thirty-five huge tomes of the 
Tanjur, enough to burden at least fifty mules. The big prayer-mill 
measured eleven feet in height, and its circumference was four times 
the span of my arms. A peg at the upper edge of a smaller prayer- 


SS 


Sen RSG 
.: “SARS 
RN 


NUNS IN THE CONVENT OF GANDAN-CHODING 


cylinder caused a bell to ring at every revolution of the cylinder. Year 
in and year out, two monks sat, from sunrise to midnight, and turned the 
prayer-mill. It made ten thousand revolutions a day; and it was cov- 
ered with millions of prayers, written on thin paper. The monks 
themselves were saying prayers. They were in a trance. They roared, 
closed their eyes, threw themselves down, and were deaf to all remarks. 

On the pillars hung cuirasses, suits of armour, standards, and 
temple-pennants, with tastefully-painted scenes from the lives of 
Buddha and the saints. On the altar-tables stood offering-bowls and 


STRANGE MONASTERIES 44] 


lighted tapers; and behind them sat Sakyamuni Buddha, dreaming, un- 
fathomable, full of love of mankind. He seemed to have risen from 
the petals of the lotus flower. 

I found it hard to tear myself away from this enchanting temple. 
Most of the day passed. The setting sun shed its luxuriant red light 
through the windows of the 
main temple-hall, the  best- 
lighted one I ever saw in Tibet. 
The pillars were, as usual, red- 
lacquered. The sun transmuted 
them into transparent rubies. 
Red-garbed monks sat on red 
divans, and the shadows fell 
dark behind them. The golden 
images and the leaves of the 
lotus flowers sparkled. 

We continued our journey to- 
ward the west, along the north- 
ern shore of the Tsangpo, to the 
village of Chaga, where a funny 
iron-chain bridge, now dilapi- 
dated, spanned the river to the 
monastery of Pinzoling. Imme- 
diately west of this point, the 
Raga-tsangpo flowed into the 
main river, the 'sangpo, or up- 
per Brahmaputra. The latter 
flowed from the south, through Seach ebay eae Ve eat 
a black, yawning portal in the 
valley. I wished to obtain some measurements of the rivers at this point; 
but the caravan had continued to the village of Tangma, on the Raga- 
tsangpo. There the boat was assembled; and, with a Tibetan as oars- 
man, I drifted on the wild current, down to the confluence, whither some 
of our people had proceeded with horses and provisions. My oars- 
man was a skillful hand, and wide-awake. He steered through seeth- 
ing foam, along narrow channels, between threatening cliffs. “The escort, 
uncertain of my purpose, followed along the bank. A few of the men 
became sufficiently interested to ask permission to make a boat-trip 


442 My ODE (A SAN a ee) ies 


on the Tsangpo, which I willingly granted. We stayed there the entire 
day, and did not return to camp until dark. The bells on the Chinese 
horses, and the singing of the Ladakis, resounded melodiously in the 
narrow valley. 

We rode on up the valley to the village of Lingd, where the My- 
chu River flows into the Raga-tsangpo. [wo gigantic representations 
of Buddha are there hewn out on the face of a perfectly smooth, per- 
pendicular granite wall. I was astonished that the escort took us, not 
up the valley of the Raga-tsangpo, but northwards through that of the 


ffs 
y 


Mii , ‘gl 
f 2D yi 

=| ly P4 
ay ¢ 


SOME OF THE GOLDEN, RED AND YELLOW LACQUERED GODS IN THE 
MONASTERY OF TASHI-GEMBE 


My-chu. It extended from the main ridge of the Transhimalaya, 
just where I wanted to go. We went higher and higher. Almost daily 
we obtained a new set of yaks to carry the baggage. We passed mani 
chests, cairns, and streamers continually. We were on a pilgrim-route, 
a road that led to a monastery. There was much trafic. We met 
caravans, merchants, peasants, pilgrims, horsemen, mendicants. They 
all saluted us politely, with their tongues. 

Riding among granite and slate rocks, and through the infinitely 
beautiful and wild My-chu Valley, we arrived at the large monastery, 
resembling a town of white houses, in the village of Tong. There our 


STRANGE MONASTERIES 443 


Shigatse escort was replaced by a new set of guards. In the village of 
Sirchung we were at a height of 13,700 feet. Among the inhabitants 
was a twenty-year-old married woman, named Putin. She was unusu- 
ally pretty and well set up. 
Jealousy does not exist in Tibet. 
It cannot arise where a wife gen- 
erally has two or three husbands, 
usually brothers. Marital fidelity 
consequently does not amount to 
much. 

The rapids of the My-chu in- 
toned their rushing songs in the 
deep, beautiful valley. Eagles 
soared between the mountain-walls, 
rock-pigeons cooed, partridges 
burred in the gravel, and wild ducks 
quacked on the banks. I spent sev- 
eral hours at every new monastery. : 
That of Lehlung-gompa was _ 4 GIcANTIC GRANITE BUDDHA NEAR LINGO AND 
among the largest. An account of deed en umes creo 
all these monasteries would fill a book. Now and then we passed 
picturesque bridges. The valley contracted to a narrow corridor, and 
the dangerous road ran about two hundred feet above its base. Forced 
into the cracks of the steep mountain-wall were iron and wooden plugs, 
upon which slabs of schist were laid loosely. This shelf was only a foot 
wide in spots, the abyss yawning below. All the tributary valleys that 
we crossed on the way down from the Sela-la, broke through the 
mountains on the eastern side of the valley. 

We encamped in an expansion of the valley, where a bridge, built | 
on caissons, crossed the My-chu. In a small, steep glen, among the 
mountains, west of the river, lay the strange monastery of Linga-gompa. 
It consisted of about forty separate houses; and, like everything else 
in this region, it was absolutely unknown to Europeans before my visit. 
I rode up to it with two of my men. The sacred words, om mani padme 
hum, were outlined in huge stone slabs on a dark slope. In the chief 
temple-hall, or dukang, where mysterious twilight prevailed, where 
temple-banners, standards, drums, gongs, and trombones adorned the 
walls and pillars, and a faint light from an opening in the ceiling fell 


4s MY LIFE AS AN EXPLORER 


on the images of gods, the monks were seated on divans, chanting 
a song that rose and fell in rhythmical waves. 

On the point of a platform-like ridge of rock, the temple of Pesu 
towered. From its roof-terrace and windows we saw the abyss be- 
neath us on three sides. ‘The pano- 
rama seen from this roof was of a wild, 
bold beauty that resists any attempt at 
description. In the interior, too, there 
was an air of mystery. I ascended a 
steep flight of steps into a Hall of divine 
images, where the light, from an open- 
ing on the left, with a shutter creaking in 
the wind, fell on a whole row of me- 
dium-sized Buddha-figures. My com- 
panions had remained in an entrance- 
hall, and I was alone with the gods. 
Now and then a mouse ventured out of 
the dark, to feast on the contents of the 
offering-bowls on the altar-table. As the 
painted banners on the left stirred in the 
draught from the window, the features 
of the gods changed; and the sight of the 
MRS, PUTIN, IN THE VALLEY OF MY-CHU, squatting images, grinning at the ma- 

WHO WAS SUPPOSED TO BE A BEAUTY rauding mice, was enough to make one 
fear ghosts. 

I found Linga-gompa so attractive that I tarried for several days. 
One day we walked up to the section of the monastery known as 
Samde-puk, and to the dupkang (hermit-cave) higher up, at the foot 
of a mountain-wall. It was really a hut, built of fair-sized stone 
blocks. It had no windows, and its entrance was walled up. A small 
chimney was visible on the roof; and near the ground there was an 
aperture in the wall, through which food was pushed in on a piece of 
board. 

In this pitch-dark cell, a lama had been walled in for three whole 
years, cut off from communication with the world during all that time! 
He had come to Linga three years before, unknown and nameless. 
As the cave was unoccupied, he made the most binding and terrible of 
all monastic vows, namely, to let himself be immured there for the rest 


STRANGE MONASTERIES 445 


of his life. Another hermit had died shortly before, after spending 
twelve years within its walls. And before that, a monk had lived in its 
darkness for forty years! Indeed, in Tong, where there was a similar 
grotto, the monks told us of a hermit who had entered the darkness 
quite young, and who had lived there for sixty-nine years. Sensing 
the approach of death, this hermit could not resist the longing to see 
the sun once more; and so he gave the signal that required the monks 
to restore him to freedom. But the aged man was stone-blind; and 
he had hardly got out into the sunshine, when he crumpled up like a 


SINGING LAMAS IN ONE OF THE TEMPLE-HALLS OF LINGA-GOMPA 


rag and died. Not one of the lamas then present had been among the 
living when he had entered the cave. 

And now we stood outside such a cave at the monastery of Linga. 
The hermit who dwelled therein bore the honorary title of Lama Rin- 
poche (the holy monk). He was thought to be a man of about forty. 
He meditated and dreamt of Nirvana. In return for his voluntary 
penance, his soul would be absolved from the pains of transmigration, 
and would enter the everlasting rest—annihilation—directly. 

' Every morning, a bowl of tsamba, and perhaps a small pat of 
butter, were shoved into him. He got water from a spring that bubbled 
in the interior of the cave. Every morning, the empty bowl was with- 
drawn and refilled. Every sixth day, he got a pinch of tea, and twice 


446 NOY) (EAE aS AEN OSE ais pera 


a month a few sticks, which he could ignite with a fire-steel. Should 
the lama who brought him his daily food address him through the 
opening, he would bring down upon himself eternal damnation. He 
was therefore silent. Should the immured man speak to the serving- 
brother, he would sacrifice all credit for his years of solitary medita- 
tion. If the serving-brother found the bowl untouched when he pulled 
it out, he understood that the recluse was either ill or dead. He 
would then push the bowl back again and walk away in dejection. If 
the bowl remained untouched the following day, and altogether for 
six days, the cave was broken open; for then it was safe to assume 


SAMDE-PUK, A PART OF LINGA-GOMPA, SITUATED HIGH UP IN THE 
VALLEY 


that the recluse had died. ‘The dead man was then carried out, and 
his body destroyed by fire, like those of the saints. 

‘Can he hear us?” I asked the monks from Samde-puk. 

“No,” they replied; ‘‘the walls are too thick.” 

I could hardly tear myself away from the place. In there, only a 
few feet away from me, was a man, possessed of will-power compared 
to which all else became insignificant. He had renounced the world; 
he was already dead; he belonged to eternity. The soldier going 
toward inevitable death is a hero; but he does it once. The Lama 


STRANGE MONASTERIES 447 


Rinpoche’s physical life persisted through decades, and his sufferings 
lasted until death liberated him. He had an unquenchable longing for 
death. 

The Lama Rinpoche fascinated me irresistibly. Long afterwards, 
I would think of him of nights; and even to-day, though eighteen 
years have passed, I often wonder if he is still alive in his cave. Even 
if | had had the power and the permission, I would not for the life of 
me have liberated him and led him out into the sunshine. In the pres- 
ence of such great will-power and holi- 
ness, I felt like an unworthy sinner and 
a coward. 

I imagined seeing him before me, as 
for the first, last, and only time in his 
life he walked in a solemn procession, 
accompanied by the lamas of Linga, up 
the valley along the road we had just 
taken. Everybody was silent. He felt 
the sun’s heat and saw the bright fields 
on the slopes. He saw his own shadow 
and those of the other marchers on the 
ground. Nevermore was he to see a 
shadow move; for he was going to live 
in impervious, solitary shade, until he 
died. For the last time he saw the sky 
and the drifting clouds, the mountain- 
peaks and their shimmering snow-fields. 

He beheld the open door of the cave. 
He entered, with the rag mat which 
was to be his bed. Prayers were of- 
fered. The door was locked; and out- | 
side the door a wall of large stones was te sacrED LAMA WALKING TO THE CAVE 
buileireaching te theroohiofithesrottam we tie Pe oe 
Was he standing in there, catching the 
last glimpses of light of the fleeting day? And when the last crevice 
between the blocks of stone had been filled, darkness descended inex- 
orably upon him. The serving-brothers, having accomplished their 
labour of love, walked down to Linga, silent and grave. 

The walled-in man heard no sound but that of his own voice, as 


448 MoY\ ED DEE eA AGN oe XP Ou a 


he uttered his prayers. Nights were long. But he did not know when 
the sun went down and the night began. For him there was only 
darkness unrelieved. He went to sleep; and when he was rested, he 
awoke, knowing not whether the day had dawned. Summer would 
near its end. He would become aware 
of that, because of the falling tempera- 
ture and the moisture. Winter came, 
and he froze; spring and summer ap- 
proached, and the rising temperature 
afforded him a sensation of well-being. 
A new year began its course, and one 
year succeeded another. He was con- 
stantly saying his prayers and dream- 
ing of Nirvana. Gradually his grasp on 
time relaxed, he was not aware of how 
slowly days and nights wore on, for he 
was always seated on his mat, lost in 
+ dreams of Nirvana. He knew that the 
Site Kingdom of Heaven could be entered 

A LAST GLIMPSE OF DAYLIGHT only at the cost of tremendous self- 

control. 

He grew old, unconscious of the fact. For him, time was static; 
and yet his life seemed to him like a second, in comparison with the 
eternity of Nirvana. Nobody visited him, except perhaps a spider or 
a centipede that sometimes ran over his hand. His clothes disinte- 
grated, his nails grew, his hair became long and tangled. He did not 
notice that his complexion turned quite white, and that his vision 
weakened, until the light of his eyes went out. He yearned for de- 
liverance. And one day there would come a knock on his door, made 
by the only friend that could visit him in the cave. It would be Death, 
who had come to lead him out of the dark and to take him away to the 
great light in Nirvana. 


Oya ee Lig Shad thai dee dig wy") 
New Transhimalaya Passes—Mohammed Isa’s Last Journey 


N April seventeenth, we rode to the village of Govo, the last 
one where people still lived in stone huts. ‘Then the black 
tents, the grazing black yaks, and the white sheep on the lofty 
alpine fields were seen once more. 

On the left rose a mountain, with a strange, vertical cave, in the 
lower opening of which dwelt two mendicant lamas and two nuns from 
Nepal. They were the servitors of two hermits whose caves were 
higher up in the mountain. A natural, spiral flight of stairs, slippery 
and dangerous, led up to the alcove-like grotto, where Gunsang Negurbu, 
a centenarian hermit, had dedicated himself to meditation. To ap- 
proach him, we had to remove a thin slate plate, that barred the 
entrance to his cave like a shutter. But the Nepalis begged me, by 
all that was holy, not to disturb the aged man; and so I contented 
myself with peeping into the hall of the cave through a chink beneath 
the shutter. Nothing was visible but two images. I heard the old 
man mumbling his prayers. It must have been cold for him up there 
in winter. But at least he saw the sun, the stars, and the whirling 
snow; for his rocky dwelling opened out upon the yalley. But he 
might never speak to a soul; and he was not even aware of the fact 
that he had a neighbour in another cave. 

Not far from there we came to the pass of Chang-la-Pod-la, 18,270 
feet high, a pass of first importance on the Transhimalayan con-— 
tinental watershed, forty-three miles west of the Sela-la. This was a 
significant new discovery. We crossed the Transhimalaya and the 
large white spot north of the Tsangpo for the second time. It was 
my dream to fill it out, step by step, as far as its western end. 

We proceeded toward the northwest. I could not discover the 
intentions of the escort. They merely led us in that direction. But I 
could not have wished for a more favourable route. One of the chief 
members of the escort had been a lama in Tong, but had been expelled 
from the brotherhood because of his love for a woman. 

449 


450 MY LIFE AS: ANVEXPLEOR Pek 


On the other side of the pass, we were again in regions that have 
no outlet to the Indian Ocean. ‘The waters here emptied into the 
lake of Dangra-yum-tso. I hoped to penetrate to its shores. A cairn 
with streamers stood at the point from which one could first see the 
holy mountain of Targo-gangri, which Nain Sing, the Indian pundit, 
sighted from the north. No European had ever seen it. The Tibetans 
prostrated themselves there, in worship of the mountain. 

At the next change of escort, we got five old men and a large 
number of others as guardians. ‘They wanted to take us back toward 
the Raga-tsangpo, but I induced them to continue northwestward. They 
had eleven tents and about one hundred yaks. I used to look in, to 
make sketches of the old men. 

We approached the sacred mountain, with its enormous, snowy 
peaks and its five visible glacier-tongues. A new, unknown range, of 
grandiose dimensions, and with perpetual snow on its ridge, towered in 
the west-southwest. We pitched our Camp No. 150 at the foot of 
the Targo-gangri and on the shore of the Targo-tsangpo, which flows 
into the Dangra-yum-tso, two short days’ march further on. So far 
everything had gone well. But at this very point, twenty armed men 
appeared, Hlaje Tsering having sent them to check our progress to the 
Holy Lake. Their leader was Lundup Tsering, known to us from 
Ngangtse-tso, where he had been in Hlaje Tsering’s suite. ‘They de- 
clared that on no condition were we to go to the lake. But not very 
far from our camp, on the right-hand side of the valley, there was a 
red, rocky promontory, from the crest of which the lake was said 
to be visible. I promised to refrain from visiting its shores, provided 
they let me climb the red promontory. They did not object to this. 
But when, on April twenty-eighth, we were on the point of departing, 
the district (Largap) chieftain appeared, with sixty horsemen, ‘in red 
and colourful attire, and mounted on white, black, and bay horses. 
They gathered round us, brawled and shrieked among themselves, and 
would not allow me to take one step from the camp. We negotiated 
the whole day, and in the end they yielded. I rode to the lake with 
two companions, and saw it shimmering blue in the north, like a 
sword-blade. 

Thereupon we walked toward the southeast, in order to cross the 
Transhimalaya a third time. On the way there, we discovered the 
Shuru-tso, a lake of moderate size, that was still frozen. On May 


a ti el 


NEW TRANSHIMALAYAs PASSES 451 


sixth, we crossed the Transhimalaya again, this time by the pass of 
Angden-la (18,500 feet). It was situated fifty-two miles west of 
the pass of Chang-la-Pod-la. I had once more succeeded in making 
a part of the large white spot mine. ‘The view in both directions 
was magnificent. Behind us, in the north, we could still see the Targo- 
gangri, and in the south the chalk-white crest of the Himalayas. 

We were on our way to the Raga-tsangpo. One evening, old Guf- 
faru was reported ill. He was lying in his tent, and appeared to be 
dying. He had already asked his son to be ready with the shroud. 
The old man had terrible stomach-pains; but when I prescribed fomen- 
tations, he told me to go home and lie down. Mohammed Isa nearly 
choked with laughter, and the others squirmed in paroxysms of mirth 
around the death-bed. At length I gave him opium, and the next 
morning he was as lively as an eel. 

On May the eleventh, we reached the Raga-tsangpo in a erie 
snow. The little puppies, travelling in a basket, snatched surprisedly 
after the snowflakes. We were on a route that Ryder and his com- 
panions had previously mapped down. But during the eighty-three-day 
journey to the Manasarovar, I was able to travel the entire distance, 
except for two and a half days, over new, unknown routes. 

The two chiefs in Raga-tasam were obdurate. They showed me 
the orders received from the Devashung. ‘The gist of them was that 
from here I was to go by no other route than the tasam, i.e., the main 
caravan-road to Ladak, as the Ryder expedition had done. I wrote 
to Tang Darin and Lien Darin in Lhasa for permission to go, by way 
of the Teri-nam-tso, Nganglaring-tso, and Manasarovar, to India. I 
entrusted Tundup Sonam and Tashi with the difficult task of taking 
my letters, on foot, to Ma, in Shigatse, two hundred miles distant. 
They were then to rejoin us. 

We did not hurry, not wishing to get too far ahead of them. We 
stayed in the place one week. As late as May fifteenth, the tempera- 
ture at night sank to —15°. Contrary to the wishes of the Tibetans, 
we wended our way to the huge mountain-group of Chomo-uchong, 
with its wild nature and icy winter cold. Coming to its other side, 
we stayed one day in the entrance to the Basang Valley. From there, 
it was but one day to Saka-dsong, the residence of the Governor. 
Instead of going that way, I wished to make a more southerly detour 
to the point where the Chaktak-tsangpo emptied into the large Tsangpo. 


452 MY: LIBE tasoANAE XPLORER 


This wish was granted by the Tibetans, on condition that Mohammed 
Isa, with the bulk of the caravan, travelled to Saka-dsong by the main 
road. 

On the evening before we separated, the Ladak-men danced around 
their fire, and Mohammed Isa played the guitar. On the morning 
of May twenty-seventh, the caravans departed in their respective di- 
rections. Mohammed Isa and I were the only ones left. We were 
on horseback, and as usual I gave him my orders. Then we said 
good-bye. My splendid caravan-leader appeared to be in the best 
of condition, as he galloped off to catch up with the others. It was 
the last time I gave him orders. 

I myself overtook the section in charge of Robert and Tsering. 
Our excursion turned out very profitable. Using our boat, we measured 
the volume of water in the two rivers, and encamped in the region 
of Takbur, after four days’ work. On May thirty-first, we were to 
make the last day’s journey to Saka-dsong. But early in the morning, 
a savage and hard-hearted chief arrived at the camp, with a group 
of hirelings. He flogged the Tibetans who had served us, and or- 
dered them to depart, together with their horses, which we had hired. 
We ourselves were to be detained three months as his prisoners, and 
were not to get any provisions. I sent one of my men secretly to 
Saka-dsong, with a message to Mohammed Isa, to send us five horses. 
Then I called the chief to my tent. He declared that I had no right 
to travel by any other road than the tasam. I warned him not to 
put on airs. I could, if it pleased me to do so, commend his head to 
my friends, the mandarins, in Lhasa. That aroused his fury, and he 
rushed up and drew his sword to deal me a blow. But as I remained 
seated, without displaying any fear, he desisted, and took himself off. 
He returned in the evening, with men and yaks, declaring that the way 
to Saka-dsong was open to us. 

On June the first, in the morning, a few of our men arrived, with 
five horses, and a message from Mohammed Isa that all was well in 
his camp. We broke camp. It was a long way. Being detained by 
my work, as usual, I arrived at the camp long after the others. Guffaru 
and the whole crowd welcomed me. 

“But where is Mohammed Isa, who is generally on hand?” I in- 
quired. , 

‘He lies in his tent; he has been ill all day.” 


NEWT RANSHIMARDAYA PASSES 453 


I knew that he frequently had headaches; so I went calmly to my 
tent, to have supper. It was already dark, when Robsang came to 
tell me that the sick man did not reply when spoken to. I then hurried 
to his tent. His mouth was distorted; and his pupils, too, showed 
that he had had a stroke. The others, whom I now questioned thor- 
oughly, told me that he had collapsed at noon, and had lost his speech 
after a few hours. An oil-lamp was burning at his head, where his 
brother Tsering sat weeping. I spoke his name, and he made a weak 
attempt to move his head. I whispered to Robert that he would not 
live to see another sunrise, and Robert was terrified. ‘The only thing 
we could do was to put ice on his head and hot-water bottles at his 
feet. 

But it was all in vain. His hour had come. At nine o’clock in the 
evening, the death-struggle began. His feet and hands grew cold; 
his body shook with ague. His rattling breathing grew fainter, and 
stopped; but after a minute, the last breath came, and Mohammed 
Isa was dead. : 

I uncovered before the majesty of death. The Lamaists mumbled 
their prayers in their own language, and the Mohammedans said their 
La illaha il Allah. CGuftaru bound the dead man’s chin, to keep the 
lower jaw in place, and covered his face with a white cloth. ‘Tsering 
wept without restraint, beat his brow and threw himself to and fro. 
I tried to quiet him; but finally we had to carry him to his tent, where 
at length he fell asleep. 

The Mohammedans converted the tent into a chapel, and five of 
them kept vigil. At midnight I repaired thither. There he lay, the 
giant, royally straight, and with a quiet smile on his lips. His face 
was pallid, but bronzed from all the storms of the Chang-tang and 
the sunny Tibetan days. 

June the second was a Sunday. That day the corpse was washed, 
wrapped in Guffaru’s shroud and a grey blanket, placed on a rude 
bier, and carried by eight Mohammedans to the funeral-place which 
the Saka-dsong authorities had placed at our disposal. My men of the 
Lamaist faith were still working at the grave. The procession was 
a simple one. I walked immediately behind the bier, then came Robert 
and a few of our retainers. ‘Tsering stayed in his tent, lost in sorrow. 
Some Tibetans were abroad to watch us. They had never before 
witnessed such a ceremony, their custom being to throw their dead to 


454 MY ALIFE UASVT ANSE 3 Pio hia 


wild animals. The pall-bearers sang a funeral-dirge. They walked 
very slowly, and rested twice—their burden was so heavy. 

The corpse was lowered into the grave, with its face toward Mecca. 
It was deposited in a side-chamber, so as not to be unduly weighed down 
by earth and sand. When the grave was filled, I stepped forward and 
thanked Mohammed Isa for his constant fidelity. 

Then we returned to our tents, silent and sad. I wrote on a slate 
slab the English names of the Europeanst whom Mohammed Isa had 
served for thirty years before he came to me to die on June I, 1907, 
at the age of fifty-three. This writing, together with his name in 
Arabic characters, and an om mani padme hum (in order to make the 
grave sacred to the Tibetans, too), was then incised in the stone erected 
over his head. A small slab was placed at the side, where Moham- 
medans happening by could kneel to offer a prayer for the dead. 

Already, on June third, the Mohammedans and the others asked 
for a sheep, for a feast in honour of their caravan-leader. And then 
came the realization of our loss. We missed him bitterly.? 

Nostalgia seized everybody; and it was moving to see the ardour 
of the Ladak-men, as they sat by the camp-fires, fashioning shoes for 
their wives and children back home. Robert, too, longed for his 
mother, wife, and brothers. But, more than anybody else, I longed 
for the unknown country north of the Tsangpo, the upper Brahma- 
putra. If we had only been permitted to depart at once; But a 
whole week was needed for negotiations with the Tibetans about my 
route. After many “‘ifs’’ and “‘ands,” they granted my request to take 
the northern route to Nyuku. 

Guffaru was appointed successor to the late leader; and I told my 
men that whoever did not show him the same obedience as that ac- 
corded to Mohammed Isa, would be dismissed instantly. The dead 
man’s belongings were sealed in two boxes, to be delivered eventually 
to his widow. Of money we found only ten rupees. This was proof 
of the honest handling of the funds with which he had been entrusted. 

On June seventh we departed. I rode up to the grave and paid 
my last respects. Soon the hillocks obscured our view of the grave, 
and it was left in the care of the great solitude. 


1 Captain Rawling, who died as Brigadier-General at the eleventh hour of the Wor!d 
War, wrote an epitaph for Mohammed Isa in the Geographical Journal, 1909, p. 442. 


VdWOS-ONILYVL JO AYALSVNOW AHL NI TIVH LVAYD YO .ONVUAVHI,, AHL 


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OP rs lar yd Bet ik ced eee Bae | 


The Discovery of the Source of the Brahmaputra 


UR road led us past the monastery of Targyaling-gompa. 
The imperious monks declared they would receive us with 
bullets, if we dared to visit their sanctuary. I sent them 
word that they need not worry, we had seen Tashi-lunpo 
and had no use for their trumpery monastery. 

Nyuku was ruled by a decent gova, who, without fuss, permitted 
me to ride up to the Kilung-la, a pass 17,400 feet high, in a range 
that branches off from the Transhimalaya. From there we viewed 
several of the high, snowy peaks of the Lunpo-gangri, the same that 
the Ryder expedition had triangulated from the Tsangpo Valley. I 
was tempted to continue to the main ridge. But I had promised the 
gova not to proceed beyond the pass; and, with aching heart, I again 
had to forego exploring great reaches of the unknown country. 

On June seventeenth, we encamped in the valley of Dambak-rong. 
Then we heard bells tinkling out on the road. A horseman came gal- 
loping up to my tent, dismounted, and handed me a letter. On the 
seal I read with a beating heart the English words: “Imperial Chinese 
Mission, Tibet.” ‘Chus I held my sentence in my hand. All my men, 
who were longing to get home to Ladak and hoping that we would 
not be delayed by any extensive excursions, gathered before the tents. 
The letter was from Tang Darin. It was polite in form, but its con- 
tents may be summarized thus: “You go straight to Ladak without 
excursions to the north or in any other direction!” I imparted this 
message to my men. They walked back to their tents in silence. 
Now the return home seemed nearer than before. These inexorable 
mandarins excited my anger, and I decided to exercise all my ingenuity 
to outwit them. The farther we moved west, the larger were the stretches 
of the unknown land we left behind us. But in some way I would 
manage to get there. 

Tundup Sonam and Tashi, who had gone to Shigatse, happened 
to return that very evening. Having fulfilled their mission, they hur- 

455 


456 MY DERE OAS ANS ex Or ies 


riedly began their return journey. But one evening, not far from 
Shigatse, they were attacked by robbers, who, covering them with 
guns, robbed them of everything but the clothes they wore. By mere 
chance the bandits overlooked thirty silver coins which one of my men 
had concealed at the back of his girdle. Terror-stricken, they after- 
wards imagined seeing a robber in every shadow, every stone. ‘They 
finally reached us, tired out, but happy. I gave them large rewards 
for their service. Rumours of Mohammed Isa’s death had already 
come to them on the way. 

A strange sickness gripped the four little puppies, which had just 
about become pleasant tent-companions for me. Within one week 
they died, all four; and Brown Puppy and I were again alone in the 
tent. 

At the monastery-village of Tradum, we touched again upon the 
main road (tasam). ‘The authority there lay in the hands of a gova 
who had once been a lama, but had been expelled from the fraternity 
of the Yellow Caps because of a love-affair. He was a great rascal. 
But sometimes it pays to have rascals as friends. I promised him 
a big sum, in silver, if he would let me have a little peep into northern 
Nepal. ‘With pleasure,’ said he; and he even let me hire some of 
his horses. Had I been a little more suspicious and cautious, I would 
have taken alarm at this unusual obligingness. First of all, it was risky 
to enter a country where Europeans were forbidden to travel, and 
where, in case they were admitted, they could only travel by certain 
routes and if provided with proper passports. Secondly, I would 
really be leaving Tibet upon entering Nepal, and the Tibetans might 
quite properly have stopped me at the frontier when I returned. 

Notwithstanding this, I departed on June twentieth, and spent 
the night at Likse-gompa, a monastery on the south bank of the Tsangpo. 
Of the sights in that small monastery I will only mention the holy dog, 
who lived on the monks’ excrement and ate their bodies when they 
died; and the drinking-vessels of the priests, which were human skulls 
that shone like ivory. 

Two days later, we rode up to the 15,290-foot pass of Kore-la, 
in the Himalayas, the water-parting between the Brahmaputra 
(Tsangpo) and the Ganges, the two sacred rivers. The incline from 
the Brahmaputra to the pass was almost unnoticeable, the difference in 
altitude amounting to only 315 feet. It would thus be possible to dig 


SOURCE OF "THE BRAHMAPUTRA § 457 


a canal and force the upper Brahmaputra to become a tributary of the 
Ganges. As it is, these two rivers do not meet until they come to the 
delta of the Hugli. | 

The panorama from the pass was wonderful. In the south, the 
ridges and valleys of Nepal gleamed in the sunshine. In the north 
lay the Transhimalaya, bathed in sunlight. But the snowy peaks 
of the Himalayas were concealed by clouds; and of the Dhaulagiri 
(26,830 feet) nothing was to be seen. 

We wandered down into Nepal. Down we clambered, to the 
valley of the Kali Gandak, a tributary of the holy Ganges, doing it 
afoot rather than topple over the horses’ heads. ‘The air grew 
warmer, respiration became easier, and we saw more and more plants 
that could not stand the Tibetan climate. When 2,800 feet below the 
pass, we made our camp for the night, near the village of Nama-shu, 
in the garden of Lo Gapu, the ‘King of the Land South,” a prince 
of a state on the border, under the suzerainty of the Maharajah in 
Katmandu. Temperate winds fanned the luxuriant tree-tops: it was 
like being in Paradise. Two of Lo Gapu’s men came to invite us to 
visit their master, in his residence, farther down the valley. But [ 
declined. He might have made us his prisoners. By the next morn- 
ing, we were mounted and on our way back to the Kore-la. But ru- 
mours of my Nepal visit reached even to the ears of the Maharajah. 
More than a year afterwards, when my family and friends feared 
greatly for my life, the Swedish Crown Prince met the Maharajah 
of Nepal in London. On that occasion, the Maharajah told of my 
visit to his state, and intimated that my apprehension at the time was 
groundless. But by that time I had long since been back in Tibet. 

The gova of Tradum having got his horses back, together with the 
promised reward, we joined Guffaru and the caravan, and proceeded 
toward the west and northwest, along the southern bank of the Tsangpo, 
through unfamiliar country. At the monastery of Namla-gompa, we 
crossed the Isangpo, which was 2,900 feet wide there, and resembled 
a lake. A few days later, we reached Tuksum, a village, and then 
assisted a lama across the river. The Tsangpo carried 3,240 cubic 
feet of water per second at this point. Five girls from Kham, in the 
extreme east of Tibet, paid us a visit at one of our camps. They had 
made a pilgrimage to the holy mountain of Kang Rinpoche, carrying 


458 MY 'ULIPE OAS AN: EPE ORIGR 


their packs on their backs, and assisted only by staffs in their hands. 
They subsisted by begging their way from tent to tent. 

I now approached one of the important geographical problems I 
wanted to solve. I had hoped to be the first white man to penetrate 
to the source of the Brahmaputra, and to determine its place on the 
map! In 1865, Nain Sing, the accomplished Indian pundit, had jour- 
neyed past, on the great caravan-road from Ladak to Lhasa. He was 
aware that the river came from glaciers in the southwest, but he had 
never gone there. In 1904, Ryder and his expedition went the same 
way; and his route ran thirty miles north of the source of the river. 
In order to solve the problem, I had first of all to measure the volume 
of water in the rivers forming the Tsangpo-Brahmaputra. This had 
to be done on a clear day, and, as nearly as possible, at the same time. 
I discovered that the Kubi-tsangpo, one of these rivers, was three and a 
half times as large as all the others combined. The point was, there- 
fore, to follow the Kubi-tsangpo, the source of which must also be that 
of the Brahmaputra. 

But I first sent Guffaru, with the caravan, along the main road, to 
the tent-village of Tokchen, not far from the northeastern shore of 
the Holy Lake. Only Robert, three Ladakis, and three Tibetans ac- 
companied me. The latter were familiar with the region. They were 
black, dressed in sheepskin coats, and carried large muskets on their 
shoulders. In my diary I call them the Three Musketeers. 

We followed the Kubi-tsangpo toward the southwest. South and 
southwest, a world of gigantic peaks towered, black, but covered with 
perpetual snow, pointed like wolves’ teeth, mighty glacier-tongues lying 
between them. Higher and higher we went. Here and there we found 
thin bark, from birches or other trees in Nepal, which had been car- 
ried by the wind across the Himalayas. ‘The Three Musketeers be- 
came nervous, when they observed me looking through the theodolite. 
They asked if it was I who kept the rain away; but I assured them that 
I longed as eagerly as they for rain, for the sake of the grass and the 
animals. 

The higher we got, the mightier the nine wild, snowy peaks of the 
Kubi-gangri rose above us. Late one evening, intensely blue-white 
flashes of lightning flamed in the south; and the mountain-tops stood 
out pitch-black against the light background, as though cut from black 
paper. Holy mountains, where the Brahmaputra, the “Son of Brahma,” 


SOURCE OF THE BRAHMAPUTRA 459 


is born! The river runs through the greater part of southern Tibet, 
breaks through the Himalayas, irrigates the fields of the peasants in 
Assam, and mingles its tremendous volume with the waters of the 
Ganges in the Hugli delta. 

On July thirteenth, we rode up to the highest point of an enormous 
old moraine. From there we had an astounding view over the gigantic 
mountains, with their wild, black rocks, domes, and passes, their névé 
basins of perpetual snow, their huge glaciers, with dark, ribbon-like 
moraines on the surface and blue-green fairy-grottoes in the ice. Be- 


, THE GIGANTIC KUBI-GANGRI MOUNTAINS, ETERNALLY COVERED WITH SNOW 
AND LARGE GLACIERS 


low us was the lower part of the glacier that fed the largest of all the 
source-brooks of the Kubi-tsangpo, the one from the Langa-chen moun- 
tain-masses. Here was the source of the Brahmaputra, and here the 
altitude was 15,950 feet. 

Their task fulfilled, I dismissed the Three Musketeers and gave 
them their wages. The whole excursion had cost thirty-five dollars! 
Who would not, at so low a price, have the glory of discovering the 
source of one of the most famous rivers on earth! The three guides 
thought I was mad to give them so much silver, after a ride of only 
a few days. And as to the glory, I am proud to share it with Nain 
Sing and Ryder, who travelled in these regions, even if they did not 
reach the source itself. 


460 MY “LIFE SAS) ANS x Ole 


During the following days, we continued westwards; crossed, in the 
Tamlung-la pass, the watershed between the Brahmaputra and the 
Holy Lake; saw to our left the mountains, the Ganglung-gangri (where 
the real source of the Satlej is situated) and the high, arched peak of 
Gurla-mandata; followed the river of Tage-tsangpo, or Langchen- 
kamba, the ‘“‘elephant river’ (which is the upper part of the Satlej 
and the largest of all running waters that empty into the Holy Lake) ; 
stopped for a short while on its shore, at the miracle-working spring 
which, like that of Lourdes, heals the sick and protects against all 
kinds of evils, including famine, drought, and attacks of robbers; sighted, 
to the northwest, the Kang Rinpoche, the Kailas of the Hindus, with 
the paradise of Siva at its top, the holiest mountain of the Tibetans; 
and, finally, got a glimpse, at its foot, of a corner of the holy lake of 
Tso-mavang, the Manasarovar of the Hindus. 

In Tokchen we were all assembled again. I made an important 
change in the caravan there. Thirteen men, under Guffaru’s command, 
were sent straight home to Ladak, with all my superfluous luggage 
and three hundred pages of letters to various friends of mine. ‘The 
most important of these letters was to Colonel Sir James Dunlop- 
Smith. I asked him to send me my post, six thousand rupees, revolvers, 
provisions, etc., to Gartok, where I expected to arrive in a month and 
a half. ‘The remaining twelve men were to go with me. Tsering 
became their leader. On July twenty-sixth, our ways parted. Guf- 
faru, with his thirteen yaks and his little troop, went homeward. 
Many tears were shed at parting. The division of the caravan led 
the Tibetans to think that we would reunite in a few days, as on the 
former occasion. ; 

I went southwestward with the others, and encamped on the shore 
of the Manasarovar, near the convent of Serolung-gompa, the first 
of the eight convents which are planted along the road of the pilgrims, 
and set like precious stones in a holy bracelet. 


Cd se na RE 1 Bd Sale Shed ae 
Manasarovar, the Holy Lake 


OLY, holy, holy, is the Tibetans’ Tso-mavang, or Tso- 
| rinpoche, the Manasarovar of the Hindus, Brahma’s soul. 

A garland of mountains rises on its banks; and golden 

eagles, from their nests below the permanent snow-fields 
on Kailas in the north and the Gurla-mandata in the south, contemplate 
its turquoise-blue surface, upon which the faithful from India see Siva, 
descended from his paradise, circling about in the form of a white 
swan. This lake has been celebrated for thousands of years in ancient 
religious hymns. In that part of the “Skandha Purana’’ entitled 
‘‘Manasa-khanda”’ it says: 

‘When the earth of Mana-sarovara touches anyone’s body, or when 
anyone bathes therein, he shall go to the paradise of Brahma; and 
he who drinks its waters shall go to the heaven of Siva, and shall be 
released from the sins of a hundred births; and even the beast who 
bears the name of Mana-sarovara shall go to the paradise of Brahma. 
Its waters are like pearls. There is no mountain like Himachala 
(Himalaya), for in it are Kailas and Mana-sarovara; as the dew is 
dried up by the morning sun, so are the sins of mankind dried up at 
the sight of Himachala.”’ 

Not without a sense of reverence did I encamp on its shores. [ 
wanted to examine this lake; investigate its hydrographic relations to 
the Satlej (that being an old, moot question) ; measure its depth, which 
had not hitherto been done; and thus, by deeds, celebrate its blue- 
green waves. On its waters, we were 15,200 feet above sea-level. 
The lake is oval-shaped, its northern part swollen out. Its diameter 
is about fifteen miles. 

And now we were to venture on the Holy Lake. We waited over 
July twenty-sixth and twenty-seventh, but the wind was too strong. 
Our Tibetans cautioned us. We would be sucked into its depths and 
perish. On the evening of the twenty-seventh, the wind subsided, and 


I decided to row across the lake during the night. I took a compass- 
461 


462 MOY LIBRE AS’ ANS XB O Rik 


bearing on the opposite (western) shore, and directed my course toward 
S 59° W. Shukur Ali and Rehim Ali were at the oars. We took 
along a lead-line, speedometer, lantern, and food for two days. The 
smoke from the camp-fire rose perpendicularly toward the stars, as 
we pushed off. ‘They will never reach the other shore of the lake, 
the lake-god will pull them down,” said our Tibetans. And Tsering 
shared their fears. It was nine o’clock. The dying swell sounded 
melodiously against the shore. After only twenty minutes of steady 
rowing, the light from the camp-fire vanished; but the swell on the 
shore was still faintly audible, far away. Otherwise, only the splash- 
img of the oars and the singing of the oarsmen disturbed the silence. 

Midnight was approaching. The whole sky flamed up blue-white, 
from sheet-lightning behind the mountains in the south. For a fraction 
of a second it was as bright as at high noon. The reflection of the moon 
swung silver-white on the sheeny water. The depth was already two 
hundred and ten feet. My oarsmen were awe-struck. ‘They sang no 
more. 

In the light of the lantern, I read off the soundings and the instru- 
ments, and made my notes. A fairylike atmosphere surrounded us. 
In the middle of the night, in the middle of a lake as sacred to hun- 
dreds of millions of Asiatics as the Sea of Gennesaret to the Chris- 
tians! Though the holiness of the Manasarovar is thousands of years 
older than the veneration accorded to the lake of ‘Tiberias, Capernaum, 
and the Saviour. 

The hours of the night passed slowly. Dawn showed faintly in the 
east. The heralds of the new day peeped out above the mountains. 
Feather-light clouds took on rose-tints; and their counterparts in the 
lake seemed to be gliding over rose-gardens. ‘The sun-rays struck the 
peak of the Gurla-mandata, and it shimmered in purple and gold. 
Like a cloak of light, the reflection clothed the eastern mountain- 
slope. A girdle of clouds, half-way up the Gurla, cast its shadow on 
the slope. 

The sun rose, sparkling like a diamond; and life and colour were 
imparted to the entire incomparable landscape. Millions of pilgrims 
had seen the morning proceed victoriously over the Holy Lake; but 
no mortal before us had witnessed this spectacle from the centre of 
Manasarovar. 

Geese, sea-gulls, and sea-swallows flew shrieking across the water. 


TOE EON Yr Ake 463 


The oarsmen were sleepy; sometimes they fell asleep on their oars. 
The morning-hours passed, and still we continued to be the centre of 
the landscape. I, too, felt sleepy. I closed my eyes, imagining the 
sound of harps in the air, and seeing whole herds of red wild asses, 
chasing one another across the lake. 

“No, this won’t do!” 

To energize my men, I gave them a shower with my hand. At 
the next sounding-place, where we found the greatest depth of the 
lake, two hundred and sixty-eight feet, we had our breakfast of goose- 
eggs, bread, and milk. ‘The lake-water was as sweet as that of a well. 
It was noon. Now it was evident that we were approaching the 
western shore, for its details became visible. After eighteen hours’ 
rowing, we finally landed. 

We gathered fuel, made tea, fried mutton, smoked our pipes, 
chatted, changed the boat and sail into a tent, and turned in as early 
as seven o'clock. The next day, we sailed north, not far from the 
shore, passing the monastery of Gosul-gompa, on its high terrace, and 
spent a new night on the western shore. Long before sunrise, the west 
wind set in with noise and bluster. At half-past four we pushed off. 
We had not gone many cable-lengths from the shore, when the wave- 
crests rose to an appreciable height; and with the wind right from behind, 
we flew across the lake, back to the camp, where our people received 
us on the shore, happy and amazed, having waited ever since they 
saw our sail, like a white spot, in the distance. 

On August the first, we moved the camp southward, the caravan 
walking on the eastern shore, while I rowed. In the south rose the 
Gang-lung mountains, at the foot of which, as I had proved, was 
the source of the Satlej. At Yango-gompa, we paid a short visit to 
its one nun and ten monks; and at Tugu-gompa, where we pitched 
our tents outside the walls, thirteen monks received us with great 
friendliness. They were amazed to see a boat on the Holy Lake, 
and could find no other explanation of my fortunate journey than my 
friendship with the Tashi Lama. In the dark temple-hall of the 
lake-deity, Hlabsen Dorje Barvas, there was a picture of the god 
rising from the waves, the dome of Kang Rinpoche, the holy moun- 
tain of Kailas, towering above his head. 

August 7, 1907, belongs to the days distinguished by three stars 
in the record of my life. At sunrise, a lama stood blowing his shell- 


464 MY. DDR AS! GaN CE OE OR Toa. 


horn on the temple-roof of Tugu-gompa. A group of Hindu pilgrims 
were bathing at the shore, pouring water over their heads, like the 
Brahmins when they worship the holy Ganges on the quays of Benares. 
The Kang Rinpoche was obscured by clouds. 

With Shukur Ali and Tundup Sonam, I entered the boat. We had 
with us furs, food, sail, and spare oars. But this time the lake was 
absolutely calm, and we had not stepped the mast. Our direction was 
N 27° W. After several hours of rowing, the Gosul-gompa appeared, 
like a speck, in the distance, on the port side. It was one o’clock. 
Yellow clouds of dust whirled round on the shore in the northwest, 
and the wind blew from that direction. Dark fringes of rain hung 


dy ROMA 


ee Y | 
Ne t 


(TT 
lel 


peel 


THE LAMAS MAKING THEIR ACCOUNTS WITH THE INDIAN MERCHANTS 


along the mountain-slopes. A heavy rain poured down upon us. It 
turned into hail. I had never seen the like of it! The stones were 
as big as hazel-nuts; they beat the water like projectiles, in billions; 
the water splashed and squirted as they fell; it boiled and seethed, 
and the spray whirled along the lake. Only the waves close by were 
visible. Great darkness surrounded us, but the interior of the boat 
was white with hail. The hail changed into pelting rain, which de- 
scended madly. I had pulled the fur over my knees, but pools formed 
in the folds. | 

It was quiet for an instant; but the very next moment a new storm 


2 Ee OE OHS Yen eB 465 


set in, this time from the northeast. We heard it roar in the distance 
like heavy artillery. For a little while longer, we attempted to steer 
our course northwestward, to the point set by the compass; but the 
waves grow larger, and their foamy crests dashed in over the star- 
board rail. The water in the boat rose, clucking and gurgling with 
our rolling. We had to steer southwestward, in the direction of the 
wind. A dangerous maneuvre! But it was successful. And now a 
journey began that I shall never forget! 

Gale! We were three men in a nutshell, in the midst of waves 
as high as on a stormy sea of my home-country. I did not notice how 
I froze as the water washed over me and in under my leather waist- 
coat. We sank in troughs of malachite-green water, seeing, through 
wave-crests as clear as glass, the sun shining in the distant south. 
We were lifted, amid foam, on raging crests of waves, where the 
boat trembled for a second, before plunging again into a dark grave 
of water, that seethed menacingly. Slowly the boat filled. Could we 
stay afloat until we reached land? If only we could have got the sail 
up, it would have been easier to keep our craft steady in the wind. 
Now it wanted to go up in the wind, and lie with starboard rail to 
windward. I leaned on the tiller with all my strength, and Tundup 
exerted all the pressure he could bring to bear on his oar. 

“Pull away, pull away!’’ I called out. 

He did pull away, and his oar broke with a loud report. Lost, 
I thought. Now we were Dound to capsize. But ‘Tundup was a capable 
fellow. Without thinking, he went for the spare oar, pulled it out 
of its loops, fitted it in the rowlock, and pulled away before the boat 
had had time to turn. The more water we shipped, the deeper we 
lay, and the easier it was for the waves to enter. 

“Ya, Allah!’ Shukur Ali called out, in a dull, grave voice. 

We had been struggling for our lives for an hour and a quarter, 
when it cleared; and we perceived the Gosul-gompa far away, straight 
ahead of us. It grew rapidly in size, and the monks stood looking at 
us from the balconies of the monastery. We were hurled into the 
surf at the shore, and the boat was drawn out again by suction. 
Tundup Sonam jumped overboard. Had the fellow gone mad? The 
water was higher than his breast, but he grasped the boat firmly and 
pulled us in. We followed his example in shallow water, and dragged 
our nutshell ashore. 


466 MY DERE ASE CAINE OR ak 


We were all in, after our hard struggle; and we threw ourselves 
headlong on the sand, without saying a word. After a while, some 
monks and youthful novices came down to us. 

“Do you need any help? It looked nasty when you were tossed 
about on the lake, which is angry to-day. Come up to us, we have 
warm rooms.” 

‘No, thank you! We will stay here. But give us some fuel and 
food.” 

They soon returned with sweet and sour milk and tsamba. Of all 
our food, only the tea could be used. They made a welcome fire of 


THREE LAMA BOYS 


twigs and dung; and we undressed by it and dried our clothes, as 
we had so often done after shipwrecks on the Tibetan lakes. 

In the morning, Robsang rode up with fresh supplies, though every- 
body believed we had perished. The Tugu-gompa: monks had burnt 
incense before the image of the lake-god, and had asked him to spare 
us. That was considerate of them! God bless them for that! 

I stayed in the Gosul-gompa twelve hours. Now I sat, sketching, 
between the eight pillars in the chamber of the gods; now I observed 
the image of the mysterious son of Sakia, on which the monks sprinkle 
holy water, with peacock-feathers, from a silver bowl, all the while 
mumbling, “Om a hum.” Here, too, the lake-deity, in his own hall, 
reigned in mysterious twilight. | 

I walked out on the terraced roof. The Holy Lake, which yester- 


Reel Boek Oe YUoLAA RE, 467 


day had done everything to drown us, was now smooth as a mirror. 
The air was slightly hazy. One could not see whether the eastern 
shore was mountains or sky. The lake and sky had the same values. 
Objects swam before my eyes. After the rough lake of the previous 
day, the whole temple swayed under me, and I felt as if hurled into 
infinite space. But beneath lay the Holy Lake, along the shores of 
which innumerable pilgrims had walked themselves weary, to secure 
peace for their souls. The Manasarovar, the hub of the wheel which 
is a symbol of life! I could have stayed there for years, watching the 


THE MONASTERY OF GOSUL ON THE ROCKY SHORE OF THE HOLY 
LAKE 


ice extend its roof across the depths, the winter storms driving whirling 
snow across land and water, the approaching spring breaking up the 
cover, in its turn being succeeded by the temperate summer winds, 
heralded by the dependable flocks of geese. I should have liked to sit 
there, seeing new days swept forth on the wings of the morning, and 
becoming one with the changing and ever equally fascinating prospects 
over the Holy Lake which unfold before the eyes of mortal man every 
day and night of the year. 

But presently the day faded away and the evening glow went out. 
I stood in a group of lamas, went up to the railing, and called out: 

“Om a hum!” 


CHART eRe TAaVeR bs 
Rakas-Tal, the Devil’s Lake 


T was good weather when we rowed back to the Tugu-gompa. 
The monks welcomed us with touching friendliness. They told 
of the sacred tree that is rooted in the gold sand at the bottom 
of the lake, and that rises toward the surface of the water. A 

thousand monks’ cells are suspended from each of its thousand branches, 
and the lake-god’s castle is at its foot. Four rivers flow from the 
Holy Lake: the Karnali, the Brahmaputra, the Indus, and the Satle}. 

After a ride up along the slopes of the Gurla, we rode past the 
Gosul-gompa once more, to the Chiu-gompa, at the northwest corner 
of the lake. A lone monk lived there, the sympathetic and melancholy 
Tsering Tundup Lama, who, having tired of his loneliness, asked per- 
mission to accompany me to the mountains. But when we were about 
to depart, his courage failed him and he proved unequal to abandon- 
ing his retreat. I crossed the lake a couple of times more, and made 
a horseback-trip up to the monastery of Pundi-gompa, near which 
Robsang and I barely escaped a gang of twelve robbers. They pre- 
ferred to pillage a Tibetan caravan of animals and goods. In the 
Langbo-nan-gompa, I had tea with the twelve-year-old abbot, an at- 
tractive and wide-awake boy, who became greatly interested in my 
sketch-book. When we rode away, he was standing in his window, 
waving his hand in farewell. The Charyip-gompa was the eighth 
and last monastery on the lake. A solitary lama lived there, with no 
one to hear when he rang his large prayer-bell. But the holy syllables 
of om mani padme hum had been cast in the metal; and when the 
bell tolled, the sound-waves wafted out over the water-waves of the 
Holy Lake. 

We found ourselves again at the Chiu-gompa, the point where the 
Manasarovar at times overflows, by way of a river-bed, into the nearby 
lake, to the west, the Langak-tso of the Tibetans, the Rakas-tal of the 
Hindus. The bed was usually dry; and the easterly lake had to rise 
more than six feet in order to overflow. This had happened in 1846, 

468 


DPE Ee DEV Disk LiAvR B 469 


when Henry Strachey was there, and also in 1909, as I learned in a 
letter from Gulam Razul. But now the bed was dry, and a thorough 
investigation of the problem was one of the great tasks of my journey. 
That is a subject that demands a book of its own.* 

The Tibetans were furious at all the liberties I took. The gova of 
Parka, the nearest authority, pursued me from camp to camp; but every 
time his men came galloping up to our tents, they were met with “He is 
out on the lake, catch him if you can.’’ And before they could reach 
the other shore, I would be on my way back, in the opposite direction. 
They grew quite bewildered, and probably concluded that I was a 
myth. At any rate, they did not once succeed in even seeing me. 


Uy 
YU rf 
DP, 


THE TWELVE-YEAR-OLD ABBOT OF LANGBO-NAN-GOMPA IN HIS CELL 


But presently the gova sent an ultimatum to Chiu-gompa. If 
I did not voluntarily present myself at Parka, his men would seize 
all my possessions and take them on yaks to that place. “Good,” I 
replied. ‘‘As you wish!” A small troop actually arrived, with fifteen 
yaks, and we gladly helped them with the loading. ‘Thereupon they 
marched off, accompanied by half of my men. With the other half, 
I went to the Langak-tso, the Rakas-tal of the Hindus, which, accord- 


1 That book is already written, namely, Volume I and Volume II of my Southern Tibet. 


470 MY ‘CLR EAS FANG EX BO hye 


ing to the Tibetans, in contradistinction to the Holy Lake, is peopled 
by demons. In the previous winter, five Tibetans had made a short-cut 
across the ice, which broke, and all five were drowned. The lake is 
shaped like an hour-glass, but the southern half is much more bulbous 
than the northern. We encamped on the eastern shore of the narrow 
neck between the two. The following morning, we were to begin 
sounding. In spite of a strong wind, I got across without mishap. But 
the wind developed into a gale, and we were marooned on the western 
shore the entire day and night. The next morning, we returned to 
the camp in a tearing wind. And after that everything seemed to 
conspire against us. Wind and storm prevailed day and night. We 
therefore had to pack up the boat, and send it on, by the last mule, 
from Poonch, while we rode around the rocky, savage, and beautiful 
shores of the lake. 

One evening we pitched camp at the point of a steep promontory 
on the southern shore. On a line with it, a rocky island, called the 
Lache-to, rose out of the waves. The wild geese breed, in May, in 
sand and gravel, on its smooth plateau. The Lhasa Government pays 
three men to protect the wild geese against foxes and wolves. ‘These 
men walk out over the ice, and remain on the island as long as they 
can safely do so. But, on one occasion, they did not have time to 
leave the island before a spring storm broke up the ice completely. 
They had to stay on the Lache-to for eight months, subsisting on goose- 
eggs and grass. 

I, too, wanted to go out to the Goose Island. With Robert and 
Ishe at the oars, I pushed off from the shore. It was early in the 
afternoon. We were to return by evening, when a wild goose would 
be fried, ready for my evening meal. Our camp was sheltered by high 
mountain-walls; and we did not notice the wind, until we were at some 
distance from the shore. But then we went out to the islet at a 
sweeping pace, and landed with difficulty in a cove. We could not 
think of rowing back in such weather. We pulled the boat ashore 
and examined the islet. It was small enough to be walked around in 
twenty-five minutes. 

The breeding-place of the wild geese was empty and abandoned; 
but as thousands of eggs remained buried in the sand, we had food 
enough to last until the wind should subside and we could row back 
to camp. We cracked some eggs, and found them rotten. We tried 


THE DEVIL'S EAKE 471 


a great many of them, and eventually found eight which, having been 
preserved under sand, proved edible. Ishe had a bag of tsamba with 
him. In the lee of a stone wall, built by the gooseherds, we made a 
fire, baked the eggs, and supped. As at the Chargut-tso, several years 
before, I now again thought of the danger of our situation, if the 
boat were to be swept away by the wind. 

We slept in the sand, and returned the next morning, before dawn 
lighted the east. My wild goose was dried up by that time; yet I 
ate it with relish. A gova from Parka arrived the same morning, 
with a new, strict ultimatum. We served him up a princely meal. I 
joked with him, saying, “Calm yourself, gova, T'll go with you”; and, 
pursued by storms that shrouded the whole country in flying dust, we 
completed our ride around the lake, crossed the old bed through which 
the Satlej had formerly flowed from the Langak-tso, and reached Parka 
late one evening. 

The chieftains of the district were content, now that they had 
finally caught me in their net. Presently the last journey back to 
Ladak would begin, along the main road, by way of Khaleb, a region 
south of the Kang Rinpoche, the Holy Mountain, the Kailas of the 
Hindus. I answered the chief that I would go to Ladak, as they wished, 
provided they would let me stay three days in Khaleb. ‘They did not 
object to this. 

Accompanied by a lama of rank, his escort of red monks, and 
his equipment-caravan, we departed, on September second, and pitched 


our tents on the plain of Khaleb, in sight of the most sacred of all 
mountains on earth. 


Gs AS i cet Ras Wally SM Lied Wh. 6 


From the Holy Mountain to the Source of the Indus 


| Y the next morning we were ready to play a trick on the stiff- 
necked Tibetans. I had managed to spend a month at the 


two lakes, to make deep soundings on the Manasarovar, and 

to visit all of its eight monasteries. I now wanted, at any 
price, to complete the circuit of the Holy Mountain, the aspiration of 
all pilgrims, a tour never made by a white man. 

Early in the morning, on September third, I sent Tsering, Namgyal, 
and Ishe, with provisions for three days, to the valley leading from 
the Kang Rinpoche. When they disappeared, I mounted a horse, and 
followed on their trail, with Robsang. My tent was left standing at 
Khaleb. The gova consequently believed that I would return in the 
evening. 

We entered the beautiful, deep-hollowed valley between high, per- 
pendicular walls of green and violet sandstone and conglomerate, passing 
several groups of pilgrims. They were all on foot. They did not 
talk; they only mumbled their eternal om mani padme hum. We took 
a few hours’ rest at the monastery of Nyandi-gompa. At the altar 
in its Hall of Gods were two elephant-tusks, ‘‘which had come flying 
through the air from India.”” The Holy Mountain, as seen from the 
roof of the monastery, was magnificent. Its shape was that of a tetra- 
hedron, on a pedestal with perpendicular sides. Its peak was covered 
with changeless snow and ice. From the edge of this ice-cap, the melted 
water hurtled down in foaming bridal-veils. 

Higher up in the valley there was granite on both sides. It was 
like passing between gigantic fortifications, walls, and towers. On the 
right, in the opening of the valley, the peak of the Kang Rinpoche 
came into view now and then. No matter from which direction we 
saw it, it was equally fascinating, baffling in its mighty majesty. 

We spent our first night among other pilgrims on the roof of the 
Diripu-gompa monastery. We learned from them that the source 

472 


PHE SOURCE) Ob (PRE INDUS 473 


of the Indus was only three days distant! Should we continue thither? 
No! We must first carry out the program already made. But after- 
wards! 

We, accordingly, continued the pilgrims’ circuitous walk around the 
mountain. In the south it looked like an enormous rock-crystal. The 
trail ran through a whole forest of votive cairns erected by pious 
pilgrims. The body of an old man lay among the stones; he had 
finished his pilgrimage for good. We mounted toward a pass. The 
ascent was very steep. On a hill there was a colossal granite rock; | 
and underneath it a narrow tunnel-passage led through the loose layers 
of earth. The Tibetans believe that a man free of sin can crawl 
through the passage, while one burdened with sins gets stuck. Ishe was 
brave enough to submit himself to the ordeal. He crawled into the 


: 
ww SSS jo 
PS SSSessy 


ae) “ail Dy 


eS 


P 
s 


THE GIGANTIC GRANITE BLOCK BESIDE THE DIRIPU-GOMPA 


dark orifice, and scrambled, on his elbows and feet, into the interior 
of the earth. He braced himself on the ground, straining with the tips 
of his toes, so that the dust whirled around them. But he made no 
headway. He stuck. We held our sides with laughter. Robsang 
roared, Namgyal had to sit down, Tsering wept with laughter. We 
heard the half-choked calls for help coming from the unmasked sinner 
underground; but we let him lie in the hole for a while, for the good 


474 MY LIFE AS. AN ‘EXPLORER 


of his soul. At last we pulled him out by the hindlegs. He looked like a 
withered clay figure, and was more disgruntled than ever. 

Pilgrims from all parts of Tibet flocked to Kang Rinpoche, the 
“holy ice-mountain,” or the “‘ice-jewel.’” That mountain is the navel 
of the earth. On its summit is the paradise of Siva. He who walks 
around the mountain, reduces the pains of transmigration and gets 
nearer to Nirvana. His herds prosper, his goods increase. We met 
an aged man who had already made nine circuits around the mountain, 
and had four more to do. By trudging from morning to evening, he 
could complete the tour in two days. Some of the pilgrims are not 
content to walk. They lie down prone, mark the path with their hand, 
rise, proceed to the mark, and prostrate themselves again. ‘They re- 
peat this all the way around. It takes twenty days to encircle the 
mountain in that fashion. 

We finally reached the pass of Dolma-la, 18,600 feet high. It 
was marked by a giant block of stone, as well as by poles, with streamers 
and strings. There the faithful sacrifice tufts of their own hair, and 
teeth from their own jaws, which they insert in the cracks of the stone. 
They tear strips off their clothing, and tie them to the strings. And 
they prostrate themselves on the ground around the rock, in homage 
to the spirits of Kang Rinpoche. 

From the Dolma-la our road ran steeply to the pool of Tso-kavala, 
which is always frozen over. Accompanied by my four Lamaist re- 
tainers on foot—for none but heathens may ride on the road of the 
Holy Ones—I rode from the monastery of Tsumtul-pu-gompa to the 
Tarchen-labrang, the third monastery in the ring. We had then com- 
pleted a circle which was like a prayer-mill, where at every step one 
heard the eternal truth, om mani padme hum (Oh, the jewel is in the 
lotus flower, amen), that mysterious, bottomless ‘‘om’’ and ‘hum,”’ 
the beginning and the end. Edwin Arnold says: 


“The Dew is on the Lotus! Rise, Great Sun! 
And lift my leaf and mix me with the wave. 
Om mani padme hum the Sunrise comes! The 
Dewdrop slips into the shining seal’ 


Upon my return to Khaleb, I called our agreeable gova and told 
him straight out that I intended to go to the source of the Indus. After 


eS OU RC Be ORs AE DN DUS 475 


long negotiation, he agreed to it, on condition that half the caravan 
went direct to Gartok, there to await my arrival. 

“You will have to make your excursion at your own risk,” he said. 
‘You will be stopped by our authorities, and also attacked and plundered 
by robbers.” 

I took with me five men, six beasts of burden, two dogs, two rifles, 
one revolver, and food for several days. We knew the first part of 
the route, which was as far as to the Diripu-gompa. There we left the 
pilgrim-road and went into the lifeless valleys of the Transhimalaya. 
The second night, we heard whistling and signals, and we kept strict 
watch over the animals. Over the pass of Tseti-lachen-la (17,900 
feet) we crossed the main bridge of the Transhimalaya. It was the 
fourth time. We encamped on its northern slope, on the shore of the 
Indus, with some shepherds bound for Gertse with five hundred sheep 
laden with barley. 

One of them, an old man, was willing to accompany us to the 
source of the Indus, Singi-kabab, or the “‘lion-mouth,” as the Tibetans 
call this remarkable place. But he wanted seven rupees a day for his 
trouble. We also hired eight of his sheep and bought their store 
of barley, enough for our horses for one week. ‘That man, Pema 
Tense, was worth his weight in gold. He was with us for five days; 
and, upon parting from him, we gave him his earnings, $42, an enor- 
mous sum to him. As for me I had achieved the discovery of the 
source of the Indus at a low price. 

We advanced with Pema Tense up the gently rising valley. The 
famous river shrank gradually, as we left its tributaries behind us. 
We stayed for a while at an expansion, and caught thirty-seven fish, 
a welcome change in my monotonous diet. Further on, we passed a 
steep rock, which a herd of wild sheep were climbing. The agile 
animals were so engrossed by the caravan, that they did not notice 
Tundup Sonam stealing upon them at the foot of the rock. A shot 
rang out, and one of the fine-looking animals dropped down into the 
valley. 

On the evening of September tenth, my tent was pitched at the 
Singi-kabab! A spring flowed from under a flat shelf of rock, in four 
streams, which united into a single stream. Three high cairns and a 
square mani chest, ornamented with beautiful symbolic carvings, gave 
evidence that the spot was sacred. It was 16,940 feet above sea-level. 


476 MY, LIEBE? AS” ANY EAP IO Ra 


About forty years earlier, an Indian pundit had visited the upper Indus. 
He crossed the river thirty miles from its source, without advancing 
to this important spot. On maps published one year before my journey, 
the source of the Indus was still indicated as being on the northern slope 
of the Kang Rinpoche (Kailas), 1. e., on the southern side of the 
Transhimalaya, when, as a matter of fact, it lay on the northern 
side of that mighty mountain-system. 

Arrian, writing of Alexander the Great, in his work “Indica” 
(Book VI, Chapter I), relates the following amusing episode: 

“At first, he [Alexander] thought he had discovered the origin 
of the Nile, when he saw crocodiles in the river Indus, which he had 
seen in no other river except the Nile. He thought the Nile rises 
somewhere or other in India, and after flowing through an extensive 
tract of desert country, loses the name of Indus there; but afterwards, 
when it begins to flow again through the inhabited land, it is called 
Nile by the Ethiopians of that district, and by the Egyptians, and 
finally empties itself into the Inner Sea (the Mediterranean). Accord- 
ingly, when he wrote to Olympias about the country of India, after 
mentioning other things, he said that he thought he had discovered 
the sources of the Nile. However, when he had made a more careful 
inquiry into the facts relating to the river Indus, he learned the fol- 
lowing details from the natives—that the Hydaspes unites its waters 
with the Acesines, as the latter does with the Indus, and that they both 
yield up their names to the Indus; that the last-named river has two 
mouths, through which it discharges itself into the Great Sea, but that 
it has no connection with the Egyptian country. He then removed from 
the letter to his mother the part he had written about the Nile.” 

At the sight of the volume of water of the huge river, rushing 
forth from its valley in the Himalayas, Alexander thought that he was 
at the very source. That he could harbour so fantastic an idea as that 
of discovering the source of the Nile, was due to his ignorance of the 
Indian Ocean. He believed that India was connected with the African 
continent, and that the large river he saw burst forth from the Hi- 
malayas curved toward the south, then northward, emptying into the 
Mediterranean. But he soon realized that the two continents were 
separated by an ocean, and that the waters of the Indus emptied into 
it. Hence, before dispatching his letter to Olympias, the king had an 
opportunity of correcting his mistake. He had not found the source 


AGEL US. ONERIC Het O Port EH Bik NoDeU S 477 


of the Nile, but that of the Indus. But that, too, was an error; for 
Alexander had no knowledge of the upper course of the river, several 
hundred miles long. And more than twenty-two hundred years were 
to elapse before, on September 10, 1907, the real source of the Indus 
was discovered. 

Thus I had the joy of being the first white man to penetrate to the 
sources of the Brahmaptura and the Indus, the two rivers, famous 
from time immemorial, which, like a crab’s claws, encircle the Hima- 
layas, the highest mountain-system on earth. 

Being beyond reach of the authorities, we pushed on through the 
western part of the white spot, to the region of Yumba-matsen. ‘Thence 
we took a westerly course to Gartok, crossing, on our way, the pass 
of Jukti-la, which attains the enormous height of 19,100 feet. We 
had then crossed the Transhimalaya five times. But the Jukti-la was 
not among my discoveries. Nain Sing had crossed it in 1867, and 
Calvert, the Englishman, in 1906. But no white man or pundit had 
ever crossed that part of the great unknown country which extended 
between my two passes of Angden-la and Tseti-lachen-la, a distance 
of three hundred miles and an area of forty-five thousand square miles. 
All that was known of it were the few high peaks of the Lunpo- 
gangri, which the Ryder expedition had triangulated. Owing to the 
harshness of the Tibetans and the Chinese, I was compelled to leave 
behind me all this territory, which had been the principal object of 
my journey. 

I simply had to go there. It was unthinkable that I should return 
home without carrying out my plans, or reaching my goal. First of 
all, I would have to wait in Gartok and Gar-gunsa for the money and 
other things which Colonel Dunlop-Smith was to send me from India. 
The governors in western Tibet, the two garpun, were inexorable 
when I attempted to induce them to let me go direct to the unknown 
country. That meant many more dead horses and mules, six months 
instead of one, and a murderous winter in Chang-tang. 

As a result of all the obstinate resistance I met with, my plan 
developed and crystallized. Gar-gunsa was now an important trading- 
place, where great numbers of merchants from Lhasa and Ladak set 
up their tents, with goods. Here I spread the rumour that I had had 
enough of Tibet, and intended to travel, by way of Ladak, to Khotan, 
in East Turkestan, and thence to Peking. My Chinese passport con- 


478 MY LIFE AS AN EXPLORER 


firmed that route. None of my friends in India was to have the 
slightest suspicion of my real intentions. I even wrote Reuter’s cor- 
respondent in India, my friend Mr. Buck, that I was about to go to 
Khotan. Only Gulam Razul, a merchant from Leh, was let into my 
secret. He was entrusted with arranging an entire new caravan. I 
purchased the twenty mules he had in Gar-gunsa; and, in addition 
thereto, he got me fifteen splendid horses. I, myself, still had five vet- 
erans left. Then he wrote to Leh, and on my behalf employed eleven 
new servitors, who were to join me in Drugub. Lastly, he procured 
provisions, furs, clothes, tents—in a word, the entire heavy equipment— 
and lent me five thousand rupees in silver. For the services he rendered 
me, he received a gold medal from King Gustav of Sweden, and was 
honoured by the Indian Government with the title of Khan Bahadur. 

On November sixth, the goods from India, as well as six thousand 
rupees, and the post, arrived at last. It was then that I received 
information of the treaty between England and Russia, concluded that 
same year (1907), in which the following paragraph concerned me 
very closely: 

‘Great Britain and Russia bind themselves mutually not to allow, 
without previous agreement, for the next three years, any scientific 
expedition whatsoever to enter Tibet, and to summon China to do 
likewise.” 

Hitherto, I had had England, India, Tibet, and China against me. 
Now Russia was added. I laughed heartily at those amiable diplo- 
mats, who wrote laws for me at their green table. The problem was 
to slip past Ladak. From there I was to take the main caravan-route 
toward the Kara-korum pass, and, as in the year before, turn eastward 
into Tibet; and, upon reaching inhabited regions, I would travel in 
disguise. 

As soon as everything was ready, we marched to Tanksi and 
Drugub. I dismissed all my old followers, Robert included; for, if 
any of them were to be found with me, when I reached tracts in Tibet 
where I had been before, my whole project was bound to fail. The 
parting was bitter and upsetting, as usual. But it had to be. They 
all wept, but they were consoled by their liberal rewards. So I stood 
again, absolutely alone, in interior Asia, against five governments that 
were united to upset my plans. 

But my isolation ended when the eleven men employed by Gulam 


ae 


S 
GaN 


©. 


2m 


ee 


SS 


THE MOST SACRED MOUNTAIN IN THE WORLD, KANG RINPOCHE, OR THE ICE JEWEL 


Pr Ee OUR GE OVER EEE EN DUS 479 


Razul arrived in Drugub. Eight were Mohammedans, three were 
Lamaists. The name of the caravan-leader was Abdul Kerim. The 
others were named Kutus, Gulam, Suan, Abdul Rasak, Sadik, Lobsang, 
Kunchuk, Gaffar, Abdullah and Sonam Kunchuk. They were all Lada- 
kis with the exception of Lobsang, a Tibetan. He was the best of 
them all, but they were all first-rate. I welcomed them in a speech, 
and hoped that they would do well on the way to—Khotan! None 
of them, not even Abdul Kerim, had an inkling of my real plan. He 
was therefore, partly excusable for taking along insufficient barley for 
the animals. I told him to take barley for two and a half months. 
But Khotan being only one month’s journey distant, he took only 
enough barley for that length of time. 

We had three tents. Mine was so small that it could hold only 
my cot on the ground and two boxes. Our caravan numbered twenty- 
one mules and nineteen horses. I rode my little white Ladaki, who 
had been with me during the entire previous campaign. The silver 
and the tinned food made four loads, the kitchen two, the tents, furs, 
and the belongings of the men burdened several beasts. Only I and 
Abdul Kerim were mounted. All the other animals carried rice, flour, 
and tsamba for us, and barley for the beasts. We had only two dogs, 
Brown Puppy and a newcomer, called Yellow Dog. In addition to this, 
we bought twenty-five sheep. 

Thus everything was new. Brown Puppy, the white mule from 
Poonch, and my little mount were the only veterans. I realized that the 
campaign about to begin would be harder than the last. At that time 
we had started in August; now it was December. We would walk 
straight into the arms of a paralyzing winter-cold and an annihilating 
wind. We had already had —10°, and the temperature was sure to 
fall gradually to the freezing-point of mercury itself. 


CHAP TE Ronis 


Desperate Winter Days in Northern Tibet 


UR first day, on December fourth, down to the village of 

Shayok, was one of the most difficult of the entire journey. 

The road ran through a narrow glen. Most of the bottom 

was taken up by a river, partly frozen, partly eddying wildly. 
Men carried the baggage. The animals bore nothing but the pack- 
saddles. My porters, about a hundred men, disappeared singing down 
the valley. A little later, I and a companion departed on horseback. 
The distance was only six miles, but it took us eight hours to cover 
it. We had to cross the river over and over again. Some spots along 
the shore were marked by strong belts of ice, that ended abruptly. 
The horses leapt from the edge into the eddying river. The water 
was four feet deep. We had to press hard with our knees, so as 
not to be thrown into the river, over the horses’ heads. We were able 
to avoid fording several times by sliding barefooted by the rocky base 
on the right shore. But the horses had to wade across. Sudan tried to 
ford one place on horseback. It was too deep. The horse lost his 
footing, and Suan had to swim to the edge of the ice, where he scrambled 
to his feet. At the last ford, the luggage was carried by naked men, 
who balanced themselves across the rocky bottom, carrying staffs in 
their hands, and supporting one another. I rode across on a tall horse, 
and got a foot-bath. Why the men who went to and fro between the 
shores did not freeze to death, is a puzzle to me. One of them got 
stopped immovable in the middle of the river, and had to be rescued 
by his comrades. We made a fire on the shore, so that they might 
warm themselves. 

In the village of Shayok, where all the pack-saddles were dried 
at fires, we were at an altitude of 12,400 feet. It was to be long 
before we again reached so low a level. 

We celebrated the last evening with a farewell-party. The village 
girls danced around a big fire, and musicians played. 

On December sixth, a new death-march, one of the most trying 


I ever experienced in Tibet, was begun. We took Tubges, a Shayok 
480 


DESPERATE WINTER DAYS 481 


shepherd, with us for a few days, to tend the sheep. He soon proved 
to be so good a marksman, that we kept him. Thus we were thirteen. 

Slowly and laboriously we proceeded up the Shayok Valley. We 
met caravans from Yarkand and Khotan. A man from one of them 
came up to me and offered me two handfuls of dried peaches. 

‘Do you recognize me, Sahib?” he asked. 

‘Certainly, Mollah Shah.” 

He had not been home since leaving me in the spring of 1902! 
Now he begged to go with us again; but we had no place for him. 
Some bales of silk lay scattered about, discarded by caravans after 


THE GIRLS OF SHAYOK DANCING ROUND THE FIRE 


their animals died. We went northwards. The valley of Shayok was 
nasty. It was full of rocks, ice, and eddying water. Already the 
temperature was down to —13°. Yellow Dog lay yelping with anger 
at the cold. Otherwise, silence reigned, and we felt the winter-cold 
stealing forth from all directions. All at once I heard a strangely 
whining sound from the tent where Gulam, my new chef, ruled. It 
was Brown Puppy. She had given us four black puppies again, just 
as in Shigatse. Two of them were bitches, and were drowned. We 
took affectionate care of the other two; and during the march, Kun- 
chuk carried them inside his fur, next to his body. This trade-route 
between East Turkestan and Kashmir and India is no doubt the most 
dificult one on earth. At any rate, it is the highest one. At the camp 


482 MEY AIST RE AS: AN AEX PIG Bk 


of Bulak, where we encountered a Yarkand caravan, twenty horses 
lay dead; and, on the road, we counted sixty-three cadavers during a 
two-hour journey. 

There was no pasturage at Camp No. 283. I examined our supply 
of barley and found that it would serve for ten days! 

“Did I not tell you to take barley for two and a half months?” 
I asked the old man. 

“You did,” he answered sobbingly; “but within two weeks we'll be 
able to buy barley from Shahidullah, on the way to Khotan.”’ 

I spoke. very sharply to him. Anyhow, it was my own fault that I 
had not investigated the provisions before our departure. It was un- 
thinkable to return to Ladak; for in that case my real plan would 
have been revealed. I sat up half the night, in a temperature of —31°, 
consulting my maps. It was ninety-six miles to Camp No. 8 of last fall, 
where the pasturage was good. From there it was four hundred miles 
to the Tong-tso, which I wanted to touch, in order to get right through 
the white spot south of that lake. But long before reaching the Tong- 
tso we would meet nomads and be able to purchase fresh animals. 
I had to carry out the plan. Forward, no matter for how many des- 
perate days; but not one step backward! 

The sooner we left the Kara-korum route (which went northwards) 
and turned east and southeast toward interior Tibet, the better. On 
December twentieth, a large lateral valley tempted us to look for a 
short-cut toward the east. After struggling the whole day in that 
direction, we found that the valley shrank into a gorge, and finally into 
a mere crack, through which a cat would hardly have been able to 
squeeze. We made camp. Not a blade of grass for grazing. The 
horses chewed one another’s tails and ropes. The temperature sank 
to —31°. The next morning, we turned back on our own tracks. I 
rode last. Kutus went on foot in front of me. We passed Mohammed 
Isa’s white horse, from Shigatse, which lay frozen hard as stone in the 
valley. 

We were again on the road of the dead caravan-horses. A spooky 
atmosphere pervaded the valley. Cadavers were constantly seen. Sev- 
eral of them were half covered with snow. The dogs barked at them. 
A strong wind blew from the south, and red dust settled like streaks 
of blood on the snow-fields. Kisil-unkur (the Red Cave), had been 
fittingly named. 


DESPERATE WINTER DAYS 483 


We camped there, so as to mount a thousand feet to the Dapsang 
heights the next morning, the day before Christmas. If we should 
be attacked there by a blizzard, there was every likelihood in the 
world that it would prove fatal. Therefore my men were in a serious 
mood. Only after darkness had set in, did the two men who tended 
the sheep turn up, with twelve of them left, the others having been 
frozen to death. We had no fuel. The men were sitting around some 
glowing sticks, singing a melancholy hymn to Allah. As a rule, they 
sang gay songs. But whenever I heard the deep, serious tones, I 
understood that they thought our situation was desperate. 

The day before Christmas came with brilliant sunshine. When we 
had risen to the heights of Dapsang, I rode on ahead. I turned east, 
and left the caravan-road that led to Khotan. The men did not under- 
stand me. They had been longing for the grapes and abundant flesh- 
pots of Khotan, instead of which I was riding straight into this dreadful 
desert of cold and snow. 

In places, the crust of the snow bore the weight of the horses. 
But it broke often enough, and the animals sank into snow-filled hol- 
lows, five and six feet deep. They plunged like dolphins through the 
fine, powdery snow. Everything was dead-white. The caravan stood 
out black against the whiteness. In our Christmas-camp, the ther- 
mometer registered —17°, as early as nine o'clock, and a minimum of 
—38° during the night. The moon shone clear and brilliant over this 
abode of deathlike quiet. I read the Biblical passages of the day, while 
the cold crackled about my tent. For all I cared, a snowstorm might 
drive across the mountains and wipe out the tell-tale snow-prints that 
showed our route. One horse lay dead in the morning. 

We followed an antelope-path, running east. No pasturage! Only 
two bags of barley remained. When they should be finished, the ani- 
mals would get rice and tsamba. We had huge supplies of that. Every- 
one had a headache. I heard again the weird hymn to Allah. Abdul 
Kerim offered prayers nightly, interceding for the others. Perhaps 
they were right. Perhaps I had set my mark too high! We simply 
had to proceed, even if we should have to go begging afoot among 
the nomads. 

We followed a valley. There was less snow. Something yellow 
gleamed on the slope on our left. It was grass! We settled down, 
and the animals ran thither with their burdens. Suan, filled with de- 


484 MY: LIEE; AS  ANGEXPLRLORER 


light, began a droll dance, which raised all our spirits. One mule died 
on the pasture. Wild yaks had been in the neighbourhood; and so 
we had fuel again. Twenty-two wild sheep were climbing on a rocky 
slope. 

I called Abdul Kerim, Gulam, and Kutus to my tent, and revealed 
my plan to them. I told of the large, unknown country to the southeast 
that I wanted to cross, of how the Tibetans kept their eyes on me, and 
how it was necessary that I should disguise myself as soon as ever we 
met the first nomads. Then Abdul Kerim would become the head of 
our party, and I would be the humblest among his servants. ‘They 
looked at one another in amazement, but said yes and amen to every- 
thing; though they probably wondered if they had not let themselves 
in with a madman. 

We arrived at the valley of the Kara-kash-daria, one of the two 
source-rivers of the Khotan-daria. I had in mind the desert-trip thir- 
teen years before, when the Khotan-daria saved my life. Here, too, 
we tried to make a short-cut toward the interior of Tibet, but had to 
turn again, after straining our animals and ourselves unnecessarily 
for two heavy days. Thus badly did 1908, the new year, begin. 

We had still to continue eastwards, and we crossed two high passes. 
A wild yak came running toward us; but becoming aware of his mistake, 
he turned, pursued by the dogs. The snow ended beyond the second 
pass. We took with us two bags full of snow from the last drift. 
We encamped in an open valley, where there was fuel. All the animals 
were taken to a grazing-ground, where a frozen spring provided 
them with water. During the night, the animals ran off in search of 
better pasturage. They wandered far, and it took all next day to 
round them up. Meanwhile I sat alone in my tent, with Brown Puppy 
and Baby Puppy for company. The other puppy had died. A weird 
sense of desolation possessed me. Things were tolerable as long as 
the sun was up, for then the strange formations and colours of the 
mountains and clouds were visible. But after sundown, the long winter 
evening and the biting cold set in. 

On January eighth, a horse and a mule died. The next day, we 
walked only a few miles, to a copious spring. From that camp (No. 
300), we saw, to the east, the region of Chang-tang, where I had been 
the year before. One day more, and we stopped at the good pasturage 


DESPERATE WINTER DAY'S 485 


which had been our Camp No. 8. The cairn of Mohammed Isa stood 
like a beacon on the hill high above. On January fourteenth, the 
temperature sank to —39.8°! It was impossible to keep warm. Every 
evening I had Gulam rub my feet, which were all but frostbitten. 
Tubges shot a wild sheep and an antelope near Camp No. 306. Our 
last two sheep were therefore granted a respite. 

Turning southeast, we lost ourselves in a world of mountains, and 
were battered by constant storms. One-fourth of the caravan had 
died, and presently the last mule from Poonch fell too. We were rarely 
able to make more than six miles a day. The barley was gone, and 
so the animals got rice and rice-balls. The time was one of devastation. 
Not a day passed without the loss of a horse or a mule. 

The Arport-tso, the lake visited by Deasy and Rawling, stretched 
right across our route. Lobsang acted as pilot. The middle of the lake 
was very narrow. Lobsang walked on, across the ice, which was clear 
as crystal, and dark-green. In the cracks, loose snow had accumulated, 
offering a footing to the animals. Otherwise the raging wind would 
have swept away the entire caravan. On the farther shore, springs 
gushed forth, compelling us to get up on the hills. At an inlet there 
was good pasturage. Two horses and one mule were left behind there. 
~ Would we survive until we encountered nomads? 

We forced our way through a storm to a pass 18,300 feet high. 
Two horses died on the way. Now Abdul Kerim, too, had to go 
on foot. We needed his riding-horse. The snow lay a foot deep. 
~ Kutus and I walked far behind the others. We found Sonam Kuchuk 
and Suan in a drift. They had heart- and head-pains, and could not go 
on. I told them to rest, and then to follow in our track. In the evening 
they dragged themselves up to the camp. Abdul Kerim came to my 
tent, downcast, saying that we would be lost, if no help came from 
the nomads within ten days. “Yes, I know,’ I replied. ‘Help the 
others to keep up their spirits, and take good care of the animals; 
and things will be all right.” 

January thirtieth proved to be a difficult day. Snow lay everywhere 
two feet deep, and often three. Two guides, staff in hand, led our 
dying train up a pass. Deep snow on a rising terrain, at this tremendous 
altitude, takes the life out of even the very best caravan-animals. It 
was snowing, and the strong wind cut through our skin like knives. 
We all walked in single file through the furrow trodden down by 


486 MY LIFE AS AN EXPLORER 


the pilots. Time and again, a horse or a mule fell, and had to be helped 
to its feet again. A brown horse would drop, and in a few minutes 
it was dead. The whirling snow covered it with a fine white shroud, 
while the carcase was still warm. Our progress was hopelessly slow. 
We doubted whether we would have strength to reach the top of this 
murderous pass. I sat in the saddle, to which the snow held me fast, 
my hands and feet being quite numb. And yet I dared not neglect 
my map, compass, and watch. I held the pencil as though it were a 


OUR HALF-DEAD ANIMALS CLIMBING THE PASS IN DEEP SNOW 


hammer-handle. This pass was as high as the previous one. We 
descended slowly. Soon we were stalled in snow a yard deep. The 
storm pressed on in all its wild rage, sweeping the fine, dry, driving 
snow around us, as we shovelled into the drifts and laboriously pitched 
the tents. And then the darkness of night set in. Even if there had 
been pasturage, we could not have found it, because of the snow. We 
kept the animals tethered. The storm howled around us; but from the 
men’s tent I heard faintly the grave hymn to Allah. In the morning 
one mule was dead. 


DIPS PAE RACE BeW TING BPR t DAVIS 487 


On the last day of January we were able to cover only three miles. 
Four old yaks were walking on a slope just above the camp, plunging 
in the drifts. I sifted all the luggage here. Everything not absolutely 
essential was piled up and burnt. We smashed all the boxes, for use 
later on as fuel. Their contents were packed in bags, as being lighter 
and more suited to the animals. 

A vast amount of snow fell all night long. The last passes were 
sure to be blocked by snow. Had we been caught in one, we would 
have been bottled up. We were at least spared the fear of being pur- 
sued from the north. What awaited us in the southeast we could only 
conjecture. We continued down a large, open valley. The snow di- 


FOUR OLD YAKS IN THE DEEP SNOW 


minished. The weather cleared. We saw the lake of Shemen-tso, and 
made camp near its western shore, where the pasturage was good. 
There we stayed three days, exhausted. It had stormed incessantly for 
two weeks. I sat like a prisoner in my tent. Brown Puppy and I 
were pining for the spring. Alas, it was still four months away! Baby 
Puppy, born in the middle of winter, did not yet know the feel of 
temperate spring winds. 

On February fourth, the sun returned for a peep. A horse and a 
mule died; and, with the last seventeen animals, we walked along the 
northern shore of the Shemen-tso. The landscape was beautiful, with 


488 MOY ALT hE? As 2AN VE © Ras 


the mountains a flame-yellow. The amphitheatrical lines of the shore 
indicated the drying-up state of the lake. 

We saw traces of nomads or hunters daily. Two more of our 
exhausted animals died. I was still riding my little, white Ladaki; 
but now he, too, had tired. He stumbled right on the level ground, 
and fell; and the Tibetan soil received me roughly. After that the 
horse was freed from further service. 

We camped in an open glen. Abdul Kerim appeared at my tent, 
and reported in a serious voice that three men could be seen in the 
north. I went out with my field-glasses. The distance was very great. 
The mirage made them look very tall. We watched them for a long 
while. At last they approached. But, alas, there were only three wild 
yaks grazing. 

I was torn between two emotions, just like the year before. On 
the one hand, I longed for nomads, from whom to buy yaks and sheep. 
On the other, the absence of people rendered our position safer; for 
as soon as ever we came in contact with nomads, the rumour of our 
caravan would spread from tent to tent, and the risk of opposition 
would grow day by day. Yet it was imperative that we should find 
natives before the last of our caravan-animals fell. 


GEE A PAGE Rw EyXv) 
I Become a Shepherd 


N February eighth, we had another remarkable day. While 
crossing a large, open valley, we saw a Pantholops antelope, 
one hundred feet ahead of us. It did not run away, and we 
noticed at once that one of his hind feet had got caught in a 

trap. The poor animal struggled and tore to free itself. The dogs 
rushed at it, but two of our men chased them away. We slaughtered the 
animal and encamped in the neighbourhood. ‘The trap consisted of a 
funnel, made of the elastic ribs of an antelope, fastened to a firm ring of 
plant-fibre. This in turn was anchored at the bottom of a hole, in which 
the funnel was concealed. The Tibetan huntsmen knew, from time 
immemorial, that antelopes could be stopped in their progress by a 
row of small cairns, several hundred yards long. The antelopes fol- 
lowed the row quite closely to the end. | 
Soon a path was beaten along the cairns, 
and there the traps were placed. 

It was evident now that we were not 
far from black tents. We saw the quite 
fresh footprints of two men. Possibly 
we ourselves had been observed, and 
perhaps it was already too late for me 
to assume my disguise. I called the men 
to my tent and acquainted them with 
the parts they were to play. We were 
to pretend to be thirteen Ladakis, in 
the service of Gulam Razul, a wealthy 
merchant. Abdul Kerim was our cara- 


5 HOW THE ANTELOPE TRAPS ARE 
van-leader. I was one of his twelve CONSTRUCTED, 


servants, and my name was Haji Baba. 

Gulam Razul had commissioned us to traverse these regions, to in- 

vestigate if it was worth while to send a large caravan to western 

Tibet next summer to purchase sheep’s wool. While we were still 
489 


490 MY LIFE vad pa Nei Bex PGR 


talking, Lobsang appeared and reported seeing two tents in the distance. 

I sent Abdul Kerim and two others to the place. They returned, 
after three hours, with a sheep and milk. Nine persons, adults and 
children, dwelt in the two tents. ‘They owned a hundred and fifty sheep. 
But they lived mostly on antelope-meat, which they hunted with traps. 
Abdul Kerim paid them also for the trapped antelope which we had 
taken. The place was called Riochung. It was sixty-four days since 
we had seen another human being besides ourselves. 

As we now had to be prepared to meet more nomads at any time, 
I put on my Ladak disguise, and thereafter appeared in the same kind 
of costume as my servants. Only, it was too neat and clean. But it 
was not long before the soot of the camp-fires and the sheep-fat of 
our meals soiled it. 

At Camp No. 329, my little mount proved to be quite worn out. 
While the other animals grazed in the meagre grass, he remained 
standing at my tent, icicles hanging from below his eyes and nostrils. 
I relieved him of the icicles, and fed him with rice-balls. 

On February fifteenth, our train advanced slowly up a new pass. 
I rode in the van. On the top of the pass (18,550 feet), I stopped and 
waited. The view behind, toward the northwest, was glorious. An 
agitated sea was as if arrested, and crowned with dazzling snow-fields. 
Slate, porphyry, and granite were there, in all shades. I waited till 
nine beasts of burden had come up. ‘The other four were overcome 
with weariness, and the men had to carry part of their load up to the 
crest of the pass. From there we descended into a stony valley, where 
the snow again lay fairly deep. We were able to water the animals 
by melting snow over the fire. After dark, the men who had remained 
behind arrived with a mule. The other three animals—one of them 
my little white Ladaki—had died. It was one and a half years, to a 
day, since we had set out together from Leh. The horse had chosen 
a distinctive spot for his end, the very crest of the pass, where his 
bones would whiten under the snow of the winter storms and in the 
summer sunshine. His going left a great void, and we were desolate. 
One more such pass would have annihilated the caravan. | 

The burdens were now too heavy for our ten beasts. AIl my Euro- 
pean clothes, except some underwear, were accordingly burnt. I dis- 
carded felt mats, unnecessary kitchen-utensils, and all my toilet-articles, 
including razors. I kept only a piece of soap. The whole apothecary- 


PyBE COME MA) SHE PIE RD 491 


stock, except a box of quinine, went. All the books that I could spare 
paid tribute to the flames. We were like a balloon which throws out 
ballast to keep afloat. 

On the way to the Lemchung-tso, a small lake, antelopes and whole 
armies of gazelles enlivened the large plain we were crossing. This 
was on the border of a large spot of unknown territory. We presently 
left the routes of Deasy and Rawling behind us. The lake was covered 
with thick ice. We cut a hole in it, and sank some metal articles, 
including some costly reserve-instruments, in it. 

The next day’s journey took us to fairly large gold-deposits, in 


WILD ASSES RUNNING IN SINGLE FILE 


shallow mines, in the bed of a brook, with stone sluices. We sighted 
two nomad-tents in the distance, but ignored them. Tubges shot five 
hares, which were put to good use, as our meat-supply was exhausted. 
In a beautiful, wide-spreading valley, we saw at least a thousand wild 
asses, in scattered herds, and, further down, five more herds. One of 
them numbered a hundred and thirty-three head. It is impossible to 
describe their elegant movements, as they circled round our dying 
caravan, as if in mockery. One might have believed they were ridden 
by invisible Cossacks, and were responding to shouts of command. 
For they ran in perfect formation, their hoofs clattering, as they went 
through their paces in unison. 


492 MY LIFE CAS (AN VE XPLORER 


Near Camp No. 341, we found some nomads, who sold us two 
sheep, milk, and butter. From there we marched toward two small 
lakes, in a hollow. Not far from the shore, two shepherds were tend- 
ing sheep, and a man was driving six yaks. We encamped there. The 
altitude was only 15,200 feet. Lobsang and Tubges went to a tent 
near by, and an old man came out and asked: 

“What do you want? Where are you going?” 

‘To Saka-dsong,”’ they replied. 

“You lie. You are in the service of a European. Tell the truth!” 

My men were downcast when they returned. Abdul Kerim had 
better luck. He bought one more sheep and some milk. 

We had intended to continue on the following day. But the storm 
that had been raging for thirty days grew into a hurricane. To break 
camp was absolutely out of the question. The air was so saturated 
with flying dust, that we could not see where the valley opened or 
where mountains rose in our path. So we stayed where we were. 
Our neighbours called on us. The cocky old man’s heart softened, 
when he learned that we would pay thirty-eight rupees for twelve sheep. 
The transaction was concluded. I remained hidden in my tent. The 
wind roared and howled. It was cold; and I felt a strong tendency 
to become inert and paralyzed. 

Then we went on. We now had three horses, six mules, and 
twelve sheep. Even the sheep bore burdens; for five sheep could carry 
as much as one mule. Ata spot where a hill jutted out, two dogs rushed 
at us. We had not yet noticed two tents that stood there. The occu- 
pants sold us some sheep. Our herd now numbered seventeen head, 
and we hoped soon to be no longer dependent upon our weary pack- 
animals. 

The gale constantly pursued us. It was torture to ride in such 
weather. The wind tore the ground into furrows. There was a roar 
like that made when high-pressure streams are turned on a burning 
house, a roar like that of rolling railway-cars, or like artillery-wagons 
on cobbled streets. On March sixth, we had the greatest difficulty in 
getting the tents pitched on the bank of a salt-lake. When my tent 
was finally raised and exposed to the vigorous bombardment of sand and 
gravel, it nearly burst with the pressure of the wind. The Ladakis 
had not enough strength left to pitch their own tent. I let some of them 


To) EE GONE Be A vor ePrice, RoD 493 


crawl into mine, while the others lay waiting in its lee. A journey 
through High Tibet is indeed no pleasure-trip! 

The next day I rode ahead, Kutus and Gulam accompanying me. 
A frozen waterway, with an ice-surface as clear as glass, interrupted 
us. We lit a fire in a small cleft on its further side, and waited for the 
others. When they were crossing the ice-belt, one of our best mules 
slipped and sprained a hind leg, so that the animal could no longer 
stand up. We did everything to help her, but all efforts were in vain. 
She could not walk; and we had to kill her. When we proceeded south- 
wards, the next morning, Brown Puppy and Yellow Dog stayed with 
the mule, and got a good meal of warm meat. 

I again set out in advance, with Gulam and Kutus. Gulam walked 
ahead, to warn us if tents appeared out of the dense haze. The storm 
was raging, as usual. Suddenly he signalled us to stop. Through the 
haze, a stone house, two huts, and a wall were dimly visible on the 
right of a glen, a few hundred paces away. It was too late to turn, 
otherwise we would have done so; for we might now, perhaps, walk 
right into the arms of a chieftain, who would, of course, bar our 
further progress southwards. We walked past the houses, seeing 
neither people nor dogs, and stole into a cleft at the base of a projecting 
cliff, on the top of which were two chorten and a mani chest. 

For a moment, as the dust-cloud lifted, we perceived a huge black 
tent, quite close by, on the other side of the valley. Our men arrived 
at last. They had lost one horse. Of the forty caravan-animals, only 
two horses and five mules were now left. Abdul Kerim and Kunchuk 
went up to the large tent. A lone medicine-lama lived there. The 
interior was arranged like a small temple-chamber, and the lama was 
the spiritual guide for the nomads of the vicinity. The district was 
named Nagrong. Gertse Pun, its chief, was expected home at any 
moment. We were lucky not to find him at home! My men were soon 
on good terms with his brother-in-law, who sold them five sheep, two 
goats, two loads of rice, two loads of barley, and some tobacco. 

At sunrise, on March tenth, two other Tibetans appeared and 
offered sheep for sale. We were glad to buy them. I completed my 
disguise, stained my face brown, and walked ahead with Tubges and 
two of the others, driving our thirty-one sheep, all with loads, before 
us. The Tibetans stood and watched us. They could hardly have 
failed to notice that I possessed no talent for driving sheep. Never 


494 MY<LIFEC AS AND EXPLORER 


before in my life had I worked as a sheep-tender. I moved my staff as 
my men did, whistled like them, and uttered the same strange sounds 
as they. But the sheep had no respect for me; they walked where they 
pleased, and I ran myself out of breath. When we were well out of 
sight of the tents, I lay down in a cleft, to wait for the caravan, and 
was glad to be able to mount a horse again. 

We rode through a belt of drift-sand. We were headed southwest, 
and the storm blew right in our faces. The constant friction of the 
sand-particles against my fur caused it to become charged with elec-. 
tricity. I needed but to touch the horse’s mane to make sparks fly 
with a crack. We made camp at a sheepfold. 


KEEPING THE SHEEP IN ORDER 


Brown Puppy and Yellow Dog never arrived at Nagrong. No one 
had seen them since they had stayed with the fallen mule. I hoped 
that they would find us, as they had done so many times before. But 
the gale had probably obliterated our tracks and baffled their scent. 
We never saw them again. How often did it not seem to me, as I 
lay awake at night, that the tent-cloth would be raised, and that my 
old travelling-companion crawled in and lay down in her corner? But 
always it was the wind that deceived me. I imagined I could see the 
unhappy dog, running in despair, night and day, in valleys we had 
passed through, always looking for our track in vain. I saw her, with 


Py BECOME) A “SHR Pill Ek R'D 495 


wounded paws, sitting and baying at the moon. She had spent her whole 
life in my caravans; and now she had lost us. The thought of Brown 
Puppy haunted me for long. I imagined that the Bheet of a Wee was 
present wherever I was—a poor, lone, 
and abandoned dog, who begged for 
help. But the mystery of Brown Pup- 
py’s fate—whether she and Yellow Dog 
stuck together and stayed with the 
nomads, or, exhausted, fell victims to 
wolves—was never solved. 

On March fifteenth, we pitched camp 
on the western shore of the Tong-tso, 
a small lake, which Nain Sing discovered 
in 1873. The.altitude there was only 
14,800 feet. We now stood on the 
northern edge of the unknown country. 
If we succeeded in going straight south, 
as far as to the Tsangpo-Brahmaputra, 
we would cross the centre of the large |... eavourrre ied ae 
white spot. Now it was important that coup aNnp LONELY TIBETAN WILDERNESS 
we play our cards skillfully. 

Abdul Kerim looked in at two tents, and held the following con- 
versation with two men: 

‘Flow many are you?”’ they asked. 

‘We are thirteen.” 

“How many rifles have you got ?” 

Miive 

‘When you came, another man was riding ahead. You walked. He 
who rode was a European.”’ 

‘‘Kuropeans never travel in the winter. We are wool-buyers from 
Ladak.” 

“The Ladak people never travel by this way, leastways not in winter- 
time.” 

“What is your name?” Abdul Kerim inquired. 

‘““Nakchu Tundup and Nakchu Hlundup.” 

‘Have you got yaks and sheep to sell?” 

‘What do you pay?” 

‘What do you want? Bring the animals.” 


496 MY> LIFE. AS AN ‘EXPLORER 


The upshot of it all was that we bought two yaks and six sheep 
the next morning. We were on the northern border of the province 
of Bongba. The name of the district was Bongba Changma, and it 
was six days’ journey to the tent-camp of Karma Puntso, the Governor. 

We passed tents several times a day. Every time they came within 
sight, and every time that shepherds were encountered with their herds, 
I had to go and drive our sheep. I began to acquire some proficiency in 
the art. On one occasion, Tubges shot seven partridges. A Tibetan 
who noticed it remarked that only Europeans ate partridges. But 
Tubges assured him that Abdul Kerim, too, had that curious taste. 

We were on a beaten path; and on March eighteenth, we encamped 
at the foot of a pass. The next morning, as we were preparing to 


TAKKAR HAD TO BE HELD BY TWO MEN 


break camp, three Tibetans called. I hurried out, under cover of the 
tents, in order to drive the sheep up the pass, with Lobsang and 
Tubges. We met a Tibetan, on a white horse, followed by a big, 
ragged watchdog, black, with two white spots. Abdul Kerim, who 
came after us with the caravan, bought the horse for eighty-six rupees, 
and the dog for two. The dog was of the ‘“Takkar’’ race; so we 
called him Takkar. He was absolutely savage, and as ferocious as a 
wolf. The Tibetan helped us to tie a rope around his neck, leaving | 


I BECOME A SHEPHERD 497 


two long ends, by which Kunchuk and Sadik led him between them, 
to prevent him from biting. 

On the other side of the pass, we descended into a glen, where 
there were several tents, herds, and horsemen enough to suggest another 
mobilization of troops. We made camp there. Takkar probably felt 
like Uncle ‘Tom: he, too, had been sold into captivity. But the sight 
of the white horse seemed to make him happy. We needed a watch- 
dog, after losing Brown Puppy and Yellow Dog. To prevent Takkar 
from giving us the slip, we thought of tying a pole to his neck, in such 
a way that he could not gnaw it to pieces. But as soon as one of the 
men approached him, he rushed up, with bared fangs and bloodshot 


RESTS Re ur RAI Seti TE ERO TR OE BIT PT, ROR ae Pee a REA Cone TT PATTI CAE TOMEI x 
SR MES MPR E NE AF ae Se LR PD A RaW ONAL BE WARS | MERE AS Bn eS Tabs ALR RAL) ob el SAT a tal Nts, Wr ook ng Secu Re 


\ecqee 


a ae 


Es 
Bins mare 
Bo a= am 


bs Q { a re 
= opt BESS me TNS on 
— DAP ce 


TAKKAR ANCHORED 


eyes, determined to get at the throat of his tormentor. The men 
therefore threw a thick vojlok blanket over the dog, and four men 
sat on him, while the others fastened the pole to his neck with a thick 
rope. Then they anchored the pole in the ground, and Takkar was 
moored. The operation over, he tried to hurl himself at the men, 
who made off in all directions. ‘‘He will be nice to have around the 
house,” I thought. 

We now came upon nomads daily. I rode when no tents were 
visible; but as soon as man or tent hove in sight, I dismounted, and 
went to driving sheep. The number of sheep was increased gradually, 
and the burdens of our last horses and mules grew lighter and lighter. 
But the sheep also served us as food, After a very difficult crossing 


498 MY LIFE AS AN EXPLORER 


of the partly-frozen Kangsham-tsangpo River, which flows from the 
mountain of Shakangsham, we learned from nomads that in seven 
days we would arrive at the tent-camp of Tsongpun Tashi, a Lhasa 
merchant, from whom the people of the vicinity were wont to buy brick- 
tea in the winter. 

We crossed two hard passes during the following days. Now we 
went past tents and herds; now we saw wild sheep in the mountains, 
and goa gazelles on the plains. We failed to get two attenuated 
mules across one steep pass, and left them, alive, hoping that passing 
nomads would care for them. Everywhere people talked about Tsong- 
pun Tashi, who lived in the interior of this large unknown country. I 
was in a state of extraordinary expectation. Would I succeed? Every 
morning I stained my face and hands brown, and I never washed. I 
wore a soiled fur, a sheepskin cap, and boots, all similar to those that 
my men wore. But it was irksome to have to be on my guard all the 
time, and to feel like a thief. When Gulam, who preceded us, stretched 
out his arm, it meant that I had to dismount and go to the sheep. 
Abdul Kerim then rode my horse. When I was in my tent, I was 
virtually a prisoner; and Takkar was always kept tied in front of the 
entrance. 

The new dog was irreconcilable. No one could go near him. If 
one of us even came out of a tent, he would bark himself hoarse. 
But he was most furious at Kunchuk, who had bought him. Baby 
Puppy was the only one who could approach him; he tried to make 
Takkar play, but Takkar was not in the mood for it. 

One mountain-range after another rose in our path, and we had 
to get over them all. At the southern foot of one, a spring gushed 
forth copiously and formed a crystal-clear, slow-flowing brook between 
grassy banks. We caught a hundred and sixty delicious fish there. 
In one deep pond, the water hardly moved; and we could see the 
bottom as clearly as if the bed had been dry. Baby Puppy, who had 
never in his life seen aught but crystal-clear ice, thought that the sur- 
face would carry him now, too; and so he jumped. Great was his 
amazement, disappointment, and annoyance at his sudden, deep im- 
mersion. | 

A shepherd came along. He informed us that it was but a short 
day’s journey to Tsongpun Tashi’s tents. ‘Now we are in for it 
again,’ thought I. It would be a sheer miracle, should we get past him. 


COPA Reals ET 


A Tibetan Captive Again 


ARCH TWENTY-EIGHTH, was a critical day of prime 
importance. Whistling, I drove the sheep along, while 
Abdul Kerim and two others went to the large tent which 
had been pointed out as Tsongpun Tashi’s. We considered 
it wiser to take the bull by the horns than to steal about like thieves 
in the night. We passed several tent-camps. Some men came out to 
inquire what manner of people we were. At one camp, Abdullah ex- 
changed a dying black horse of ours, for two sheep and a goat. One 
large tent was said to belong to the gova of that region. In another 
dwelt the abbot of Mendong-gompa, a monastery of which neither I 
nor anybody else on earth, except the Tibetans, had ever heard. Karma 
Puntso, the governor, was also somewhere in the vicinity. Thus we 
were surrounded on all sides by men of high authority. We might 
be stopped at any step, and made prisoners. It was really important 
now to be on the lookout. That we looked like beggars was decidedly 
in our favor. We were, in fact, a handful of tatterdemalions, with 
four horses, three mules, two yaks, and a score of sheep. Certainly 
nobody could believe that a European would be travelling with such 
a poor and wretched escort. 

We encamped between the tents of Tsongpun Tashi and the nbboH 
but at a considerable distance from both. Abdul Kerim soon returned. 
He had purchased rice, barley, butter, and tsamba. We loaded it all 
on a horse, which he had also bought. Tsongpun Tashi had proved 
to be a kind old man, who believed the story which Abdul Kerim 
told him, and, besides, warned us of robber-bands that were quartered 
in the region to the south. Abdul Kerim also promised to let ‘Tsongpun 
Tashi buy one of our horses cheaply—the same horse which Abdullah 
had already sold. Then my caravan-leader, who was doing splendidly, 
went to the gova’s tent. There he was met with the information that, 
because of some dereliction, the gova had been excommunicated by the 

499 


500 MY LIFE AS ‘AN EXPLORER 


abbot of Mendong, and was not allowed to leave his tent for a certain 
time. ‘‘Good,” thought we, “that eliminates that bird.” 

The next morning Tsongpun Tashi himself walked straight up to 
our tents. I hastily stained myself and stowed all suspicious articles 
at the bottom of a rice-bag. This time the Lhasa merchant was in quite 
a different humour. He was furious. 

“Where is that horse I was to get? You lie; you are rascals! 
Now I shall examine your tents and belongings. Tie your dogs!” 

We tied the dogs, and the old man entered Abdul Kerim’s tent, 
which, as usual, was pitched alongside of mine. When he came to 
examine the tent in which I sat hidden, he was as angry as a bee. 
But Gulam had meantime released Takkar; and when the old man 
appeared at the opening, the dog rushed at him. He retired hastily. 

“Kutus,’ roared Abdul Kerim, “take Haji Baba with you, and go 
and find the lost horse.” 

Kutus hurried to me, and together we ran toward the nearest 
mountain. : 

‘Who is that?” asked Tsongpun Tashi. 

‘Haji Baba, one of my servants,” Abdul Kerim replied, without 
winking. 

“Tl stay here till Haji Baba has found the runaway horse,” said 
Tsongpun Tashi. ; 

However, Abdul Kerim handled the uninvited guest with diplomati 
skill. From our hiding-place, on a ridge, we saw him slouch off to the 
abbot’s tent after Takkar had once more been tied. ‘The abbot’s tent was 
so situated that Kutus and I could not avoid passing it. We walked 
rapidly, staring at the ground, as though seeking the horse’s tracks; and 
we were certainly happy to leave the tent far behind us without further 
adventures. The caravan arrived soon afterwards and I took my place 
with the sheep; for we had to pass twenty tents, from which, as always, 
inquisitive people came out to look at us. When we had at last manceu- 
vred ourselves out of this wasps’-nest, we made camp on a plain in the 
valley. 

I heaved a sigh of relief. We had no neighbours. Takkar was, as 
usual, tied before my tent. I seated myself, entered the day’s events in 
my diary, and sketched the panorama. It was a clear evening. Spring- 
like winds were blowing across the plain. Takkar played condescendingly 
with Baby Puppy. All of a sudden, the big dog came up to me, and 


AG te By AACN) CoA BETS TE 501 


looked at me steadily. ‘Well, what do you want?” I asked. He leaned 
_ his head to one side and started to scratch my arm with his fore-paws. 
I took his ragged head in my hands and patted him. We understood each 
other. He began to howl and whine with delight, leaped at me, and 
seemingly implied: ‘Ah, come and play with me, instead of sitting there 
alone and sulky.” I unfastened the ropes and knots around his neck, and 
freed him from the nasty pole that had weighed him down since the day 
he became our captive. He stood motionless. Finally, I wiped away 
the dust-clots in the corners of his eyes. Now his joy was boundless. 
He shook himself so that the dust flew, and nearly upset me with his 
playful leaps. He cavorted and danced, howled and barked, and seemed 
both proud and happy at the confidence I had shown in restoring his 
freedom. ‘Then he darted off over the plain like an arrow. ‘‘Now he 
will run back to his former master,” thought I. But no; he came back at 
top speed, within a minute, and gave Baby Puppy a push, the impact of 
which caused the little dog to make several revolutions along the ground. 
And this maneuvre was repeated over and over again, until Baby Puppy 
became quite dizzy. My men were astonished that Takkar had been 
tamed so quickly, and that I could play with him as safely as with the 
puppy. 

I played with my new friend—Brown Puppy’s successor—every eve- 
ning during my voluntary imprisonment; and day and night Takkar was 
our best protector. He developed a violent hatred of all that was 
Tibetan. He would not suffer a Tibetan to approach the tents. His 
attacks were dart-like. I had to pay a number of silver rupees to peace- 
able nomads for the torn clothes and bloody wounds which he caused. 
He also helped me to maintain my incognito; for he would not let a soul 
approach my tent. And when we feared curious neighbours, we had but 
to tie Takkar before the flap, to assure me perfect peace. 

I was also greatly indebted to Takkar for the successful outcome of 
the sixth crossing of the Transhimalaya; and consequently I bear his 
memory in warm regard. 

A few peaceful days followed unexpectedly. We entered the serpun- 
lam (the road which gold-inspectors took to western Tibet), bought a 
horse and some more sheep, and discovered a lake, Chunit-tso. We 
encountered salt-caravans and yak-caravans. From the easy pass of 
Nima-lung-la, we admired one of the most important Transhimalayan 
ranges in the south. In a bare, narrow valley, a mountain horned owl 


502 MOY “RT EF BAS) AGN? VRE Ie OUR 


perched above our tents, calling “clevitt!”” Lobsang informed us that 
this bird warned travellers against thieves and robbers. 

It was now the beginning of April. We were following the hitherto- 
unknown river, Buptsang-tsangpo, southwards. Some of the many 
nomads who camped on its banks told us that the river emptied into 
Tarok-tso, a lake several days’ journey to the northwest. In the south- 
southeast there were two glorious, snow-covered peaks, belonging to the 
Lunpo-gangri. Then we reached the beautiful arena-shaped valley, in a 
semicircle of snow- and glacier-mountains, which contained several 
sources of supply of the Buptsang-tsangpo. 

We traded our two weary yaks for nine sheep belonging to some kind 
nomads. On April fourteenth, we passed a salt-caravan consisting of 
eight men and three hundred and fifty yaks. These men displayed great 
interest in us, and asked many unwelcome questions. 

The next day, we made the pass of Samye-la (18,130 feet), crossing, 
for the sixth time, the main ridge of the Transhimalaya, the continental 
watershed between that part of Tibet which has no outlet to the sea, and 
the Indian Ocean. Between the Angden-la in the east and the Tseti- 
lachen-la in the west, I had thus succeeded in establishing a new route 
through the white spot. And right here it came to me vividly that the 
vast system of mountain-ranges running north of and parallel with the 
Himalayas, ought in future to be called the Transhimalaya. 

While I was seated on the pass, sketching, and rejoicing at this new, 
important conquest for geographical knowledge, Kutus whispered: 

‘“Yaks are coming.” 

Down in the valley appeared the large yak-caravan, winding toward 
the pass like a black snake; and we heard the whistling and shrill cries 
of the drivers. Then we descended into the valley, on the south side; and 
once more I felt gratified at the thought that the brook which rippled 
over the gravel would sometime meet its Nirvana in India’s sea. 

We did not pass a single tent that whole day. The tract was too 
high. We met only two horsemen. Abdul Kerim stayed them long 
enough to buy one of their mounts. Again we passed sheep-caravans, 
with salt for Pasaguk. On the way to the Chaktak-tsangpo, a river 
known to us from the year before, we came upon nomads, who cautioned 
us against a band of eighteen robbers, all armed with guns. We avoided 
Pasaguk and Saka-dsong, and took a back way, through the mountains, | 
to Raga-tasam. ‘This very route was notorious for its nests of robbers. 


Aa Beeb, Ny? CA Pee EVE 503 


In the evenings the Mohammedans would sing their weird hymn to 
Allah. 

On April twenty-first, the nomad-tents again became so numerous 
that I had to take my appointed place with the sheep. We were soon to 
arrive at a large tent, that of Kamba Tsenam, who owned a thousand 
yaks and five thousand sheep. On April twenty-second, one of my men 
looked in on some nomads, in passing, to ask if they would sell us any 
horses. Snow fell so thickly, that I could ride for stretches without being 
distinguishable. “Iwo of our men went to Kamba Tsenam’s tent and 
bought provisions. ‘The wealthy nomad himself was not at home, but 
two of his men rode to our camp in the evening and sold us a handsome 
white horse, for a hundred and twenty-seven rupees. 

On April twenty-third, we continued eastward up to the pass of 
Gabuk-la. Fortunately we found an old man, tending some horses, who 
went with us as a guide. He was quite voluble, and told us, among other 
things, of a European who had been in those parts the year before, with 
a big and strong caravan-leader, who died suddenly, and was put in the 
earth at Saka-dsong. 

Camp No. 390 lay in the opening to the valley leading to the pass of 
Kinchen-la. It snowed wildly all through the evening and night, and once 
more we were in the thick of winter. 

Our anxiety increased every day. Every step took us closer to the 
danger-line; for two days’ travel would bring us to the main caravan- 
route (tasam), with its vigilant authorities. What was to happen, and 
how we were to elude the difficulties, was a puzzle. I had several plans. 
Circumstances would have to determine which of them was to be adopted. 
Even if we should once more be made captive by the Tibetans, I would 
have the satisfaction of having crossed the province of Bongba, which 
corresponds with the middle Transhimalaya, and which was until then 
unexplored. 

How would this day end? That was my thought, on April twenty- 
fourth, as we started out, in brilliant sunshine, to travel through snow- 
clad land. We admired the massive bulk of the Chomo-uchong. As 
usual, I stopped to make a panoramic sketch of the pass, the Kinchen-la 
(17,850 feet). From there, a mighty, snowy range was to be seen in 
the northeast, the Lunpo-gangri in the west, and the white ridge of the 
Himalayas in the east-southeast. Nobody disturbed us. When I had 


504 MY LIFE AS AN EXPLORER 


finished my sketch, I followed the trail of the caravan. It had made 
Camp No. 391, in a fairly narrow glen, which afforded pasturage, fuel, 
and water. 

We all felt that something decisive was impending. Some radical 
precautionary measures were accordingly adopted. My European 
blankets, leather instrument-cases, and all other things likely to arouse 
suspicion, were buried or burnt. Abdul Kerim was to take my tent; and 


THE TRANSHIMALAYA AS SEEN FROM OUR CAMP 


from then on I was to occupy a secret compartment, quite a tiny, enclosed 
crib, in his large tent. Our two tents were always placed back to back. 
This enabled me to creep from one to the other without being seen from 
the outside. Under the new arrangement, the Tibetans might search both 
tents without finding me, hidden as I was in the separated compartment. 

I sat writing, when Abdul Kerim looked in, and, in a serious voice, 
and with grave mien, said: 

‘“‘A group of men are coming down from the pass!” 

In the tent-cloth, on each long side, there was a peep-hole. I looked 
through the one in the direction of the pass. Quite right! Eight men 
were approaching. They led nine horses, two of which bore burdens. 


AVEERE PANY CAR PIN E 505 


They were not ordinary nomads, for they wore red and dark-blue skin 
coats, and red headgear, and they were armed with rifles and swords. 

I put everything that might arouse suspicion into. the rice-bag, my 
usual cache. I ordered Gulam to tie Takkar before the entrance to my 
tent. I freshened my brown complexion and donned my soiled Ladak 
turban. Three of the strangers brought their horses to a spot hardly 
thirty paces from Takkar, who barked furiously. There they unloaded 
and unsaddled the horses, collected fuel, made a fire, fetched water in a 
pan, and made themselves at home for the night. 

The other five, among whom were two evidently prominent officials, 
entered Abdul Kerim’s tent, without ceremony, and started a lively but 
low-voiced conversation. I heard them mention my name; and Abdul 
Kerim swore as he hoped to be saved, that there was no European in our 
caravan. ‘Then they went out and sat down in a circle, round their fire, 
for tea. 

Unseen from the outside, I crawled into Abdul Kerim’s tent. All my 
men were seated there, looking as though they had just heard their death- 
sentence pronounced. The leader of the group had said: ‘‘Newly- 
arrived salt-caravans from the north have reported you to the governor 
of Saka-dsong. He suspects that Hedin Sahib is concealed among you. 
I am commissioned to make a thorough investigation. I shall therefore 
go through all your luggage, turn every bag inside out, and finally 
examine you yourselves to the very skin. If it turns out that you have no 
Kuropean in your train, as you say, you will then be allowed to travel 
wherever you wish.”’ 

My men regarded our situation as desperate. Kutus suggested that 
he and [ should flee to the mountains, as soon as it was dark, and hide 
there until the examination was over. ‘“That is useless,” Gulam whis- 
pered. ‘They know that we are thirteen.” 

“No,” I added; “it would be in vain, now. We are caught. [I shall 
go out to the Tibetans and give myself up.” 

Abdul Kerim and the others began to weep, thinking our last moment 
had come. 

I rose and went out. The Tibetans stopped talking and looked at 
me. I stopped for a while by Takkar, to pat the dog. He whined affec- 
tionately. Thereupon I walked slowly up to the Tibetans, my thumbs in 
my girdle. They all rose. I made a haughtily condescending gesture, 
and bade them sit down. I seated myself between the two most promi- 


506 NUY DLE EB 1 avS) ANG SE ae 


nent. A little to the right of me sat Pemba Tsering. I remembered him 
at once, from the year before. 

“Do you recognize me, Pemba Tsering?” I asked. 

He did not answer, but jerked his head in my direction and looked 
meaningly at his comrades. ‘They were all bashful and silent. 

“Yes,” I went on, “I am Hedin Sahib. What are you going to do 
with me?” 

While they sat whispering, I sent Kutus to get a box of Egyptian 
cigarettes. I handed them around, and they all smoked. Presently the 
leader regained his courage. He produced a letter, received by the 
Governor from the Devashung, to the effect that I was not to take 
another step toward the east. 


I DELIVERED MYSELF INTO THEIR HANDS 


“To-morrow you will go with us to Saka-dsong.” 

“Never!” I replied, ‘‘We have left a grave there. I shall never 
go back to that place. Last year I wanted to go up into the mountain- 
land north of Saka-dsong. Then you prevented me. Now I have come 
here, after passing through that forbidden country. So you see that you 
cannot interfere, and that I am more powerful in your own country than 
you yourselves. I shall now go to India; but I myself will decide by 
which route.”’ 

‘The governor of Saka-dsong will decide that point. Will you come 
with us to Semoku, on the Tsangpo, to meet him there ?”’ 


Abr LEB hAD AN, CA PO PVE 507 


“With pleasure.” 

A courier was immediately dispatched to the Governor. 

Now the conversation became freer. The leader began: 

‘Last year we compelled you to go to Ladak. Now you are among 
us again. Why have you come back?” 

“Because I like being in Tibet, and I like its people.” 

“It would suit us better if you liked living in your own country as 
well.” 

Thus we sat chatting and smoking till the sun went down. We 
became the best of friends. My servants were as happy as they were 
surprised at the agreeable outcome of the adventure. The Tibetans 
laughed heartily at Abdul Kerim’s merry tale about our being wool- 
buyers. But they believed that I possessed secret powers, which enabled 
me to get through Chang-tang and escape the snares of the robber-bands. 
The chief, Rinche Dorche, called Rindor, took down all I said, to report 
it to the Governor. 

A new chapter of our wandering existence really began now. I had 
a comfortable feeling of freedom, and no longer did I have to hide in 
my tent. And yet now I was really a captive. We made my tent as 
attractive as possible, moving out rice-bags and the like, and I was 
certainly glad that we had not had time to burn more of our valuable 
and useful articles than we had disposed of. To begin with, I underwent 
.a thorough scouring in warm water, which was renewed four times. 
Then I cut my beard. I missed my razors and other toilet-accessories. 
But having water and a piece of soap, I could dispense with other crea- 
ture-comforts. 

On April twenty-fifth, we rode to Semoku, two days’ journey distant. 
Our procession looked like a gang of prisoners. Six Tibetans went on 
either side of me. We found the Governor already at the meeting- 
place. There were present also Dorche Tuan, his colleague Ngavang, 
and his son Oang Gya. ‘The first-named was a tall man of forty-three, 
garbed in Chinese silk, with skull-cap and queue, wearing earrings, finger- 
rings, and velvet boots. He entered my tent, polite and smiling: 

“T hope that you have had a pleasant journey.” 

“Yes, thank you; but it was cold.” 

“You were ordered out of the country last year. Why, then, have 
you come back here?” 

“Because there are parts of your country that I did want to see.” 


508 MY LIFE CAS VAN GEiPrs Oona is 


“Last year you went down into Nepal, to Kubi-gangri, on the lakes, 
to all the monasteries, around the Holy Mountain, to the source of the 
Indus. I know exactly where you have been. Such a thing is impossible 
this year. The Devashung has issued new orders, and I have informed 
the Government that you are here again. Now you must go back to 
the north by the same road that you came.” 

Large areas of the white spot, rich in geographical enigmas, still 
remained both east and west of my latest route across the Samye-la. 
An irresistible longing arose in me to conquer these, too, to complete the 
pioneer-work and block out the entire uncharted country, leaving only 
the work of detail to future explorers. But I was aware that nothing 
but the refinements of diplomacy would open the doors of these regions 
tome. I therefore began by saying that I wished to start back to India 
by way of Gyangtse. 

“Impossible! You will never get permission to go by that route.”’ 

“T also want to write to Lien Darin, and send letters to my family.” 

“We do not forward any letters.” 

Being thus prevented from informing Lien Darin and my friends in 
India that I was still alive, my parents had no news of me until Sep- 
tember. Hence they feared the worst. In many quarters I was already 
given up for dead. 

Dorche Tsuan, for his part, insisted that I go back towards the 
north. I replied: 

“You may be able to kill me, but you can never force me to cross 
the Samye-la.” 

“Well, then, I may allow you to return by the same road to Ladak 
that you took last year.” — 

“No, thank you! I never walk in my own footprints. That is 
against my religion.” 

“You must have a strange religion! Which way will you take, 
then?” 

“Across a pass east of the Samye-la, and then to the Teri-nam-tso 
and further west.”’ 

“Unthinkable! But are you willing to go with us to Kamba Tse- 
nam’s tent for further negotiations ?” 

“Certainly.” 

Before we left, I wrote out a list of what we needed in the way of 
clothes and provisions; and Dorche Tsuan sent a courier to a wealthy 


Pee pie, EAUN CARD Lei EB 509 


merchant in Tsongka, near the southern border of Tibet, two days’ 
journey from Semoku. Dorche Tsuian had fallen in love with a Swedish 
army-revolver I had, and asked to buy it; but I told him that it was not 
for sale. However, I offered it to him as a present, provided they 
allowed me to choose my own route. 

“It is strange,’ he said. “You are dressed more poorly than all 
your servants, and yet you have so much money!” 

A brown horse, for which we had paid a hundred rupees, was 
attacked by wolves and devoured. The Tibetans took this mishap 
calmly. But they were frantic when Tubges shot a wild goose; and young 
Oang Gy4a came to my tent, on the verge of tears and lamented: 

“Tt is murder! Do you not understand that the other goose will die 
of sorrow, now that you have destroyed its mate? Kill any animals you 
want, but leave the wild geese in peace.” 

Then we departed on our journey across four passes. As we were 
making camp in the valley of Namchen, 
the merchants arrived with the required 
articles. My men got new clothes; and 
Abdul Kerim fashioned a genuine Tibe- 
tan robe of heavy red cloth for me, 
like those worn by the gentry of the 
land. I bought a fur-lined Chinese cap, 
elegant boots, a rosary to wear around 
the neck, and a sword in a silver scab- 
bard, adorned with turquoises and cor- 
als, to be worn in the girdle. We pur- 
chased rice, barley, flour, tsamba, tea, 
sugar, paraffin-candles and cigarettes, 
suficient for two or three months and 
also several horses and mules. The 
Tibetans’ eyes grew big at the sight of 
the silver coins piled up on my tent- 
rug. 

Thus far everything went well. Only 
the question as to the route remained. 
We held a council for several hours in Dorche Tsuan’s tent. 

‘There is no other pass but that of Samye-la,” they said. 

‘Yes, there is,” I answered, ‘‘the Sangmo-bertik-la.”’ 


THE AUTHOR IN TIBETAN DRESS 


510 MY UB TEE 3 Ass PAINY eth Eg aoa 


“That road is so poor that we do not hire out yaks for a journey 
there,’ one nomad put in. 

“Then I will buy the yaks.” 

“We do not sell them.” 

“Large bands of robbers run riot in that region,” the Governor added. 

“Then it is your duty to give me an escort.” | 

“The soldiers I have belong to the Saka-dsong garrison.”’ 

“Let us divide in two parties. Abdul Kerim will go with the bulk 
of the caravan across the Samye-la; and I, with a small caravan, will take 
the eastern road. Afterwards we'll meet at the lower Buptsang-tsangpo. 
You will give me ten men as escort. Each one of them will get two rupees 
a day. You will then be able to supervise my movements, besides being 
assured that I will not make any long roundabout excursions, seeing that 
I have to pay so much.” 

Dorche Tsuan did some thinking, and went out to hold a private 
council with his trusted men. When he returned, I had my way; and he 
only asked that I sign a paper, assuming entire responsibility for the 
consequences. ; 

The captain of the bodyguard was immediately introduced to me. 
His name was Nima Tashi. He looked 
like a good fellow, and wore a large, 
bulging fur coat. Panchor, elder 
brother of Kamba Tsenam, a fifty-five- 
year-old yak-hunter, was to be our 
guide. He was a wrinkled old man and 
an arrant rascal. 

On May fourth, we all went to 
Kamba Tsenam’s camp, where quite a 
tent-town had grown up in the valley. 
Having passed there on April twenty- 
second, we had thus described a loop 
around the Chomo-uchong mountain- 
masses. Inthe evening, Kamba Tsenam 
NIMA TASHI, THE CHIEF OF OUR ESCORT stole into my tent. He confided to me 

that Panchor would take me and the 
escort anywhere we wished. He told me of his own accord that he was 


on friendly terms with all the robbers in the entire region. “I am the 
father of all robbers,” he said. 


AULIBET AN CAPTIVE 511 


May fifth was our last day together. In the evening, we had a 
‘farewell-party for Dorche Tsuan and all his men. I sat with the chief- 
tains at the entrance to my tent and had tea. Outside, in front of us, 
there was a big fire, around which my men performed Ladak dances and 
enjoyed themselves heartily. “Two men, covered with a blanket, with 
two sticks for horns, simulated a wild beast, which stole up to the fire, 
and was brought to earth by a lurking hunter. The comical Suan exe- 
cuted a love-dance toward a woman who was represented by the staff 
which he bore in his hand. The audience clapped their hands rhythmi- 
cally, the Ladakis sang, and the ‘Tibetans, in a solid circle around the 
arena, howled with delight. Dorche Tsuan assured me that never in 
their lives had they had so good a time. Meanwhile, the snow fell 
thickly ; and the smoke from the fire and the whirling snow joined in the 
dance. It was a picturesque and successful evening. It was midnight 
before the guests departed and the fire went out. 


LARGE SPOTS IN TIBET INDICATE UNEXPLORED REGIONS UNTIL 1906. NUMBERS I TO 
8 SHOW MY CROSSING OF THE TRANSHIMALAYA RANGE 


CHLA PVE Rad xan 
New Travels Through the Unknown Land 


N the morning of May sixth, our roads separated. Gulam, 
Lobsang, Kutus, Tubges, and Kunchuk went with me. All 
were mounted. Nima Tashi and his nine soldiers likewise 
rode horses. We had yaks for the luggage; and on the way 

we bought sheep. Abdul Kerim and the other six men went by way of 
the Samye-la, with instructions to wait for me near the Tarok-tso. As 
my little troop had to be as lightly-equipped as possible, I made the 
mistake of handing over to Abdul Kerim the larger part of my funds, 
or twenty-five hundred rupees. 

We rode northwards through the unknown land, crossed the mighty 
range of Kanchung-gangri, reached the upper course of our old Chaktak- 
tsangpo River, and encamped at Lake Lapchung-tso, surrounded on all 
sides by high mountains. The main ridge of the Transhimalaya, with - 
huge snow-peaks, rose in front of us. Our road took us even higher; 
and this complicated labyrinth of mountain-ranges, valleys, rivers, and 
lakes became increasingly clear to me. ‘The terrain was difficult. We 
walked over mossy rocks, along paths rarely used except by wild yaks. 
But finally we stood on top of the Sangmo-bertik-la, 19,100 feet above 
the sea. There I crossed the Transhimalayan system for the seventh 
time, whereupon we descended again to regions that have no outlet to the 
sea. 

Nima Tashi and his handful of warriors were terribly afraid of 
robbers. No sooner did they see a few horsemen in the distance, than 
they expected an attack. They began to make trouble, and wanted to 
turn back. But after I suggested that they receive their twenty rupees 
every evening, they stayed. anchor entertained us with stories of 
robberies, and he also told us that there were spooks at night at the 
grave of Mohammed Isa. 

The country was rich in game, goa gazelles, Pantholops antelopes, 
wild sheep, wild yaks, and wild asses. We passed tent-camps here and 

512 


THE UNKNOWN LAND 513 


there; and once, when we made camp, sixty inquisitive Tibetans crowded 
- around us. 

Across the river of Soma-tsangpo, we got to the little Teta-la pass. 
Its threshold afforded an indescribably beautiful view of the salt-lake of 
Teri-nam-tso, intensely turquoise-blue, and surrounded by naked moun- 
tains, in violet, yellow, red, pink, and brown shades. In the northwest 
rose the Shakangsham, in the southeast the Targo-gangri, in the south 
and southwest the Transhimalaya—all of them with dazzling snow- 
fields. JI sat for hours entranced by all this grandiose beauty, and 
sketched a panorama of the lake, in colours. The pundit Nain Sing had 


rasa 


TE hess 
t Be te ray 
; ctl 
; eg 
f ( 
My, aN 
/ 1 


A GROUP OF TIBETANS 


heard of the Teri-nam-tso, in 1873, but had never seen the lake; hence 
I had the satisfaction of being the first to see it and confirm its existence. 
It was situated 15,360 feet above sea-level. 

From the Teta-la, I could see, sharply and distinctly, through field- 
glasses, all the Targo-ganeri peaks, snow-fields, and glaciers; and my 
old longing for the Dangra-yum-tso, the Holy Lake, lying at its foot, 
returned. It was only a few days’ journey distant. I negotiated with 
Nima Tashi and Panchor, in our camp on the shore of the Teri-nam-tso, 
promising them big rewards. But they dared not accede; and fearing 


514 MY WL LE EAS CAWN OR PES Tiare. 


that in one way or another I would make my way to the Dangra-yum-tso 
against their wishes, they called the chieftain Tagla Tsering, who the 
previous year had taken part in stopping me near the southern bank of 
the Holy Lake. He arrived, with twenty horsemen, in a warlike outfit, 
with lances, swords, and rifles, and wearing tall white hats. He himself 
was dressed in a panther-skin and red cloak, with a ribbon bearing six 
silver idol-cases on his shoulder. He was jovial and witty; and we had a 
nice time together during the four days I spent at the lake. Nevertheless, 
he was adamant, and I could not demoralize him. Not one step to the 


TAGLA TSERING AND A FEW OF HIS MEN 


east, was his ultimatum. Nor was I allowed to visit the Mendong- 
gompa, a monastery which was situated west of the Teri-nam-tso, and 
of which we had heard before. The only road open to me was that to 
the Tarok-tso, where I was to meet Abdul Kerim. Consequently I had 
to give up the Dangra-yum-tso trip for the third time. Several years 
later, this lake was visited by the distinguished English geologist, Sir 
Henry Hubert Hayden, who recently perished in a mountain-ascent in 
the Alps. He is, as far as I know, the only European who penetrated 
the unknown land north of Tsangpo subsequent to my journey; but owing 
to his untimely death, his observations have not been published. 

On May twenty-fourth, we bade farewell to good Tagla Tsering and 
his soldiers, and rode westward along the southern shore of Teri-nam-tso 
(the Heavenly Lake of the Throne-Mountains). We encamped at the 


Pra CON KONO WEN AUN DD 515 


Mendong-gompa, in spite of the prohibition. It was a small white-and- 
_redconvent. The monks and nuns lived in tents. West of the ‘‘Gazelle 
Pass” (Goa-la) we discovered the peculiar Karong-tso, surrounded by a 
tangle of ridges and promontories. And a few days later, we again 
entered the province of Bongba, and made camp on the bank of the 
Buptsang-tsangpo. On June fifth, we took leave of the escort, who said 
they had performed their task. ‘They returned with Panchor to Saka- 
dsong. ‘Thus, being alone, and having procured two unassuming nomads 
as guides, we were at absolute liberty to go where we would. But the 
most important task now was to find Abdul Kerim and his detachment. 
No one had seen any signs of them. We therefore went on, along the 
river, toward the Tarok-tso. 

Although it was the beginning of June, the most violent, whirling 
snow-storm fell upon us here, and the whole country became white as 
chalk. Thunder clashed in the Transhimalaya, one of the mightiest 
ridges of which rose southwest of the Buptsang-tsangpo valley. Baby 
Puppy, who had never before heard the roar of thunder, became so 
frightened that he ran into my tent, his tail between his legs, and lay 
there snarling and barking at the peals. The experienced Takkar met 
the noise with the utmost calm. 

Our camping-grounds on the Buptsang-tsangpo were so beautiful, 
that I would have liked to stay there a longer time, if for no other 
reason than to observe the wild geese and the trig yellow goslings that 
swam on the river. We finally pitched our tents near the southern shore 
of the Tarok-tso. Nowhere did we see a trace of Abdul Kerim and 
his troop. Instead, two district chiefs and a score of horsemen called 
on us. They had heard nothing of Abdul Kerim, but promised to 
find him. They declared that the only route open to me led across the 
pass of Lunkar-la, to the Selipuk-gompa monastery, the very way I 
wanted to take; for it ran right through the largest tract of the unknown 
land that still remained “‘unexplored.” 

And so we proceeded, on June ninth, to the little monastery of Lun- 
kar-gompa, temporarily closed, and up to the Lunkar-la pass (18,300 
feet), from the top of which we had a splendid view of the Tarok-tso 
and the Tabie-tsaka, a salt-lake, famous for its very rich yield. 

All the nomads and chiefs whom we met in this region were friendly 
and helpful. At Poru-tso, a newly-revealed lake, gova Pundar, of Rigi- 
hloma, paid his respects to us, and procured the supplies we needed. 


516 MY. LIFE "AS CAN WE XP OO RoR 


Here the enormous outlying ranges of the Transhimalaya system ran 
from north to south. -We crossed one of them by the pass of Sur-la, 
19,100 feet high, surrounded by a world of magnificent, snowy cupolas, 
peaks, and shimmering blue glaciers. ‘Then we descended into the valley 
of Pedang-tsangpo, where the river flowed north. The Sur-la range 
then lay on our right, its valley-front capped by snow-covered tops. The 
consciousness of being the first white man to traverse this region, gave me 
an indescribable feeling of satisfaction. I felt like a powerful sovereign 
in his own country. There are bound to be future expeditions into this 
country, which is one of the most notable on earth, from the point of 
view of orography and geology. In centuries to come, it will be as well 
known as the Alps. But the discovery is mine. ‘That faet will never be 
forgotten. 

But where was Abdul Kerim? He had vanished without leaving a 
trace. Had he been attacked by robbers? I consoled myself with the 
knowledge that all the results of the last stage, from Drugub on, were 
in my possession: collections, diaries, and maps. But of money I had 
only eighty rupees ($27) left. 

The Pedang-tsangpo River took us to the lake of Shovo-tso, another 
new discovery. Its basin, too, was surrounded by mighty mountains. 
The “gold route” ran across the Ka-la pass, in the northeast. The 
Neganglaring-tso, a large, sparkling, turquoise-blue salt-lake, ringed with 
brick-red and violet mountains—an extremely fantastic landscape, won- 
derfully permeated with colour—met our gaze from the Tayep-parva-la 
pass, on June twenty-third. Not a tree, not a bush; only occasional 
meagre pasturage, in a glen. Barren and gaunt it was like everything 
else in High Tibet. One of Captain Montgomerie’s pundits, having 
heard of this lake, some forty years before, called it Ghalaring-tso. But 
neither he nor anyone else had been there. 

We settled down on its shore, and afterwards on the banks of the 
Sumdang-tsangpo, a river which emptied into it. There were plenty of 
wolves in the vicinity, and we had to keep careful watch over our animals. 
Once a pack of wolves came quite close to us in broad daylight. Lobsang 
caught a little ferocious wolf-cub at the Sumdang-tsangpo, and we kept 
him in a leash at the camp. ‘Takkar and Baby Puppy treated him with 
a certain respect, and kept at arm’s length. In an unguarded moment, 
the wolf-cub managed to free himself from the rope, and fled to the 


THE UNKNOWN LAND 517 


_ Tiver, intending to swim across to the other bank. But Takkar thought 
this was going too far. He emitted a howl, threw himself into the river, 
overtook the young wolf, held him under the water until he was drowned, 
swam back to our bank with the wolf in his teeth, and ate him up, skin, 
bones, and all. 

We came to the Selipuk-gompa monastery on June twenty-seventh. 
The prior, Jamtse Singe, received us very cordially. To allay our fears 
about Abdul Kerim, he consulted his 
sacred books, and ascertained that our 
men were still alive, that they were in 
the south, and that we would meet them 
within twenty days. My cash was down 
to twenty rupees, and I was quite ready 
to sell rifles, revolvers, and watches. 
Then we would certainly be able to 
reach Tokchen and the Manasarovar, 
and from there send a courier to our 
old friends in Gartok. 

Previously, at Shovo-tso, we had seen 
a large yak-caravan, which now also en- 
camped at Selipuk. It belonged to the 
governor of Chokchu, on the Dangra- 
yum-tso, who was on a pilgrimage to aia 
Kang Rinpoche, the Holy Mountain, Rr bis UO 
with a hundred persons, four hundred 
yaks, sixty horses, and four hundred sheep. I became friends with him 
and his two brothers. They visited me in my tent, and I had dinner 
with them. The name of the governor was Sonam Negurbu. He was 
of a striking type, copper-brown face, broad, clumsy nose, a lion’s-mane 
of black hair (undoubtedly richly stocked!), and a cherry-red cloak. 
He and his two brothers had two wives in common—or two-thirds of a 
wife each—which, in view of the ladies’ looks, seemed to be an ample 
sufficiency. The women were old, ugly, and dirty. 

I tried to sell a fine Swedish gun; but when Sonam Negurbu offered 
ten rupees, I said the gun would be his when he produced three hundred 
silver rupees. A gold watch, worth two hundred rupees, astonished him 
exceedingly. He thought it strange that human beings could make such 
small fine things. But as twelve and six o’clock were all the same to 


518 MY CLL E AS MARE AP Oia 


him, when he had the sun in the sky gratis, he refrained from bidding. 
He offered me sixty rupees for our last Swedish army-revolver. 

“No, indeed,” I replied. “I am not a beggar; and sixty rupees mean 
nothing to me.”’ I lied, of course; for I was a beggar, and in as deep a 
hole as in Kermanshah, twenty-two years before. However, Sonam 
Neurbu presented us with rice, tsamba, and sugar, so that we were able 
to make our way to Tokchen; and, by way of return, I gave him a watch. 

The gova of Selipuk was amusing. He came to my tent, with a band 
of loafers, to inquire, by virtue of his office, what kind of bird I was. He 
had heard of a European’s arrival, and was extremely amazed to find 
a stranger, in Tibetan attire, surrounded by five veritable vagrants. The 
problem was too much for his intellect, and I made no attempt to solve 
it for him. He went away with something to think about. 

We departed on June thirtieth, and made camp on the plain of 
Rartse, whence the saw-toothed, snowy ridge of the Transhimalaya 
offered a magnificent sight. “Toward sunset, Lobsang appeared, and 
announced the approach of four men and four mules. Out came the field- 
glasses. Aha! It was Abdul Kerim, two of our men, and a guide. The 
others arrived a few days later. I was brimming over with abuse for 
my caravan-leader; but he got off lightly, partly because the silver was 
intact, partly because he had really been attacked by robbers, who got 
away with a horse and a mule, and finally because of his encounter with 
hostile district-chiefs, who forced him to take rough roads north of the 
Tarok-tso. 

Only the final crossing of the unknown country remained to be 
accomplished. It led to many important discoveries, for which there is 
no room in this book. We went over the Ding-la, a pass 19,300 feet 
high, the loftiest one we had negotiated during this entire journey in 
Tibet, and across Surnge-la, 17,300 feet high, situated on the continental 
water-parting. On July fourteenth we reached Tokchen. 

I had then crossed the Transhimalaya eight times, by eight different 
passes, of which only one, the Jukti-la, had theretofore been known. Be- 
tween the Jukti-la in the west and the Khalamba-la in the east, there was 
a region five hundred and seventy miles in length, which no European 
had ever before visited, and which, on the latest English map, was 
marked with nothing more than the word “‘Unexplored.”’ Although the 
existence of a mighty mountain-system in the east and the west was well 
known before, it became my happy lot to describe the enormous inter- 


THE UNKNOWN LAND 519 


vening gap. The exploit was accomplished when I finally reached 
-Tokchen. 

All the highest mountain-ranges in the world are situated on the 
gigantic elevation of the earth’s crust of which Tibet occupies the greatest 
part. They are the Himalayas, the Transhimalaya (which merges 
with the Kara-korum in the west), and the Kun-lun, which includes the 
Arka-tagh. As for that part of the Transhimalaya which I had 
explored, it might be said that in general its passes are five hundred 
metres higher than those of the Himalayas, but its peaks are fifteen 
hundred metres lower. All the rain-water that falls on the Himalayas 
flows to the Indian Ocean; but the Transhimalaya is the water-parting 
between the ocean and the table-land which has no outlet. Only the 
Indus has its source on the northern slope of the Transhimalaya, 
breaking through that system as well as through the Himalayas.’ 

After my return home, the name which I had given to the mountain- 
system north of the Tsangpo was objected to by British geographers in 
certain quarters. The reason was that Sir Alexander Cunningham had 
already used the name, in the 1850’s, to denote one of the ranges of 
the northwestern Himalayas. Back in India it had been proposed that 
the system be named for me, an honor which I declined. In this con- 
nection I may be pardoned for quoting the opinion of the late Lord 
Curzon of Kedleston, one of the most distinguished connoisseurs of the 
geography of Asia. After alluding to my discoveries in Bongba, he says: 

‘Alongside of this great discovery I would place the tracing for hun- 
dreds of miles, and the assurance of a definite orographical existence to 
the mighty mountain-palisade, or series of palisades, to which he has, in 
my opinion very appropriately, given the title of Transhimalaya. This 
range has been surmised to exist in its entire length for many years; it 
has been crossed at its extremities by Littledale and by native surveyors. 
But it was reserved for Dr. Hedin to trace it on the spot, and to place 
it upon the map in its long, unbroken, and massive significance. . . . It 
is no mean addition to human knowledge that we should realize the 
assured existence of one of the greatest mountain-masses in the world. 
As regards the name which Dr. Hedin has given to it, I will only say 
that the desiderata for the title of a new and momentous geographical 
discovery appear to be these: (1) that the name should, if possible, be 

1A detailed account of the Transhimalaya, and an account of all that was known 


about this mountain-system prior to my expedition, may be found in Volume III and Volume 
VII of my work, Southern Tibet (Stockholm, 1917 and 1922). 


520 MY (REE AS MARN a Pos ae 


given by the principal discoverer; (2) that it should not be unpronounce- 
able, unwritable, over-recondite, or obscure; (3) that it should, if 
possible, possess some descriptive value; and (4) that it should not 
violate any acknowledged canons of geographical nomenclature. The 
name Transhimalaya combines all these advantages, and it has a direct 
Central Asian analogy in the Transalai, which is a range of mountains 
standing in the same relation to the Alai that Transhimalaya will do 
to Himalaya. I am not in the least impressed by the fact that the name 
was once given to another range, where its unsuitability secured its early 
extinction. Any attempts to substitute another title on the present occa- 
sion will, in my opinion, be foredoomed to failure.”——Geographical 
Journal, April, 1909. 


CPN Phy RE ery 
To India 


E were delayed in Tokchen for nine days, owing to the 

implacability of the heads of the district. On the whole, 

they were friendly and courteous. But they had got into 

trouble, the preceding year, when I went about at will, without 
permission; and so they were reluctant to get into another scrape on my 
. account. I had no passport. Consequently they could not let me travel 
by any other road than that by which I had come. The authorities along 
that route had to be responsible for my passage. The Tokchen officials 
could not permit me to hire yaks, or to buy provisions. But in case I 
wished to return northwards, to Selipuk, they would render me all the 
assistance possible. 

The Tibetans are an odd folk! The year before, I had had recourse 
to all sorts of tricks and stratagems to get into the unknown land north 
of the Tsangpo, and yet I had failed. In the end, I had been compelled 
to sacrifice about a year’s time, a whole caravan of forty animals, and 
thousands of rupees, to attain my object. And now, after many cross- 
ings and recrossings of the unknown land, and when I longed for nothing 
else than to get down to India, they wanted to force me back north of 
the Tsangpo! 

At last my patience gave out, and I departed, with my twelve men 
and ten horses, without assistance. We followed the northern shore of 
the Manasarovar, and I called on our friends, the young prior in Langbo- 
nan and the lonely Tundup Lama in Chiu-gompa. At the monastery of 
Tirtapuri, I divided the caravan. Only Lobsang, Kutus, Gulam, Suan, 
Tubges, and Kunchuk were to accompany me to India; the others, under 
Abdul Kerim, were to go direct to Ladak. 

My journey along the Satlej and across its deep-lying tributaries was 
one of the most interesting I ever undertook in Asia, because we crossed 
the Himalayas crosswise. Words fail to describe the landscapes of 
overwhelming grandeur which our eyes encountered everywhere. To 
‘see them once, is to possess a lifelong memory of the high mountain- 


peaks, with their dazzling snow-fields, and the steep, rocky walls which 
521 


Jen MOY “LUE BE A Sy eA i Pi Oe 


enclose the valley of Satlej; and one even imagines hearing the mighty 
roar of the foaming river. 

The journey from Tirtapuri to Simla took a month and a half. Here 
I will recount only two memories of this king’s highway, that intersects 
the highest mountain-range on earth. | | 

At the monastery of Kyunglung, the Satlej] was spanned by a sagging 
wooden bridge, constructed of two beams, with cross-pieces. It was four 
feet wide and forty-two feet long, and without a rail. A few feet 


THE FRIGHTENED HORSE JUMPED FROM THE SHAKY BRIDGE INTO THE 
FOAMING RIVER 


beneath the bridge, the Satlej, pinched between cliffs, rushed by at a 
dizzying speed, seething, boiling, foaming; and, a few hundred paces 
farther down, it widened out, with a hollow and awesome roar. The 
river ran very deep in its chiselled, rocky bed. One dared not be dizzy, 
crossing the bridge. he men carried the luggage. Two of the horses 
gave us considerable trouble. My white horse, the one I had bought of 
Kamba Tsenam, and which I had ridden four hundred and eighty miles, 
was the last to cross. I dismounted, and we removed his saddle. The 
animal was frightened by the angry water; and he had never in his life 
seen a bridge. He trembled all over. We tied a rope around his nose; 
and two men pulled him out onto the bridge, while the others urged 


TOATIN DEA 523 


him on with whips. Everything seemed to be going well. Trembling in 
every limb, the horse advanced to the middle of the bridge. But there 
he saw the heaving foam of the whole river below him, and became panic- 
stricken. He stopped and turned crosswise on the bridge, his head 
pointing up-river. He pricked up his ears, his eyes flamed, he distended 
his nostrils, snorted, and made a death-jump right into the river. 

“He is lost, he will be ground to pulp against the rocks,’’ was my 
first thought. And my second was: “Lucky that I did not ride him 
across the bridge!’’ But the strangest thing of all was that the horse 
rose to the surface, in the expansion below the bridge, and swam briskly 
ashore to the left bank. With one leap he was up, and began to Braz 
just as though nothing had happened! | 

We had to cross all the tributaries of the Satlej. They were He 
grooved, like the Canyon of the Colorado, though of course on a much 
smaller scale. Yet some of them were entitled to no little respect. At 
the edge of the Ngari-tsangpo gorge, the gigantic river-valley was right 
below. We descended on foot, by hundreds of precipitous zigzags, 
2,720 feet down to the river; then mounted again as high, and at the 
same grade, on the other side. The greater part of a day was needed 
to cover a few miles. 

Near the Shipki-la, we crossed the border-line of Tibet and India. 
Here, for the last time, we were at an altitude of 16,300 feet. I 
remained long, gazing toward Tibet, the land of my victories and my 
sorrows, the inhospitable land, where both man and nature create 
obstacles for the traveller, and from whose dizzying heights the traveller 
returns with a whole world of unforgettable, precious memories, in spite 
of the difficulties. 

Within a stretch of a few miles, we had mount\d 5,620 feet, from 
the river to the pass. Presently we descended from the upper cold and 
wind, down to the river, where we enjoyed temperate summer winds, 
blowing through the apricot-trees. We were on the left bank. Poo, the 
first village on the Indian side, lay high up in the hills on the right side, 
embedded in luxuriant vegetation. Here there was a Moravian mission, 
established many years ago, and still conducted by German missionaries. 

But how were we to cross the immense river, which at this point was 
squeezed into a narrow passage, between perpendicular rocks, and roared 
in foaming eddies through its bed? Not a living creature was to be seen 
on the shore, and Poo was obscured. Only a steel cable, as thick as my 


524 MY LIFE *AS) AN (EXPE ORE 


thumb, stretched across the abyss, which yawned about a hundred feet 
below. The bridge that once was there had broken down. ‘The only 
remains were the stone abutments at both ends, and the adjoining beams 
which used to be the bridge-heads. 
Neurup, our last guide, knew what to 
do. He wound a rope around the cable 
a few times, secured himself in the loop, 
grasped the cable, and hauled himself 
across. Then he ran to Poo, and soon 
returned with two missionaries and 
some natives. They brought a wooden 
yoke, grooved to fit the cable, and 
wound around with ropes. Other ropes 
served to haul it back and forth along 
the cable. And now we began the tran- 
sit. Mules, horses, dogs, boxes, and 
men were hauled across. I put my legs 
through loops in the ropes, grasped the 
yoke with my hands, got another rope 
looped around my waist, and was thus 
hauled across the abyss. It was a haz- 
ardous trip. With legs dangling I swayed between heaven and earth. 
It was a hundred and fifteen feet to the middle, but the distance seemed 
endless. With a sense of relief, I finally glided in over the bridge-head 
on the right bank, and felt safe. 

It was August 28, 1908; and, until Mr. Marx and his companion met 
me, I had not seen a European since August 14, 1906. I stayed with 
them a few days. On the Sunday, I attended their impressive high mass, 
celebrated for the native children. 

From Poo, we descended to ever lower levels. It grew warmer, 
day by day. Takkar suffered agonies with his thick black coat of hair. 
With tongue hanging out, and dripping, he ran from shade to shade; and 
he lay down, outstretched, in every brook, to cool himself. Half a year 
ago, he had come to us, while Tibetan winter storms hurled the drift- 
snow round our tents. As far as the Shipki-la he had breathed the fresh, 
cold air of his home-country, and had seen the last yaks. We had now 
brought him toa land of infernal heat. He pondered and cogitated. He 
was conscious of loosening bonds. We had taken him from the nomad- 


TIBETAN BOY FROM THE WEST 


AOU IN Dk nes 


herds by force; and now, again treacherously, we were luring him down 
to a country, the heat of which he could not endure. He felt more and 
more like a stranger among us. He was frequently out of sight the 
whole day; but in the cool of the evening he would come to our camping- 
place. He felt lonely and for- 
saken, and noticed that we left 
him heartlessly. One evening he 
failed to turn up. We never 
saw him again. He had doubt- 
less gone back to Tibet, to the 
poor nomads and the biting 
snow-storms. 

On September ninth, I got the 
post in Gaura; and on the four- 
teenth, I encamped in Fagu. I 
had left my entire caravan sev- 
eral days earlier, and now tray- 
elled alone. On September fif- 
teenth, I entered Simla and 
wrote “Camp No. 500” in my 
diary. 

The very next day, I attended 
one of those brilliant state balls 
at Lord Minto’s court—I who 
had loafed like a beggar, and 
tended sheep, a short while ago! 
eee ane Hinatavae fram CROSSING THE Oe ag BETWEEN TIBET AND 
my windows in the Viceregal | 
Lodge. Behind its snowy crest, my beloved Tibet lay dreaming. The 
doors to the forbidden country had been closed again. 

From Simla I went to Japan. And then began a series of splendid 
receptions by Academies, Geographical Societies, Kings and Emperors. 
The many years that followed I spent working out my scientific discov- 
eries and undertaking journeys to Asia and America. But that is quite 
another story. So here I close “My Life As An Explorer.” What my 
remaining years may bring forth, rests in the hands of God. 


On ee ae ae . 
~. 


F : 
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7 
PREIS) 


2 
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PS 


INDEX 


A 


Abbas the Great, Shah, 27, 32 

Abdul, 202, 204, 298, 331, 333 

Abdul Azim, Shah, 30, 67, 78 

Abdul Hamid II, Sultan, 57, 377 

Abdul Kerim, 479, 483, 484, 485, 488, 489, 
490, 492, 493, 495, 496, 498, 499, 500, 
502, 504, 505, 507, 509, 510, 512, 514, 
515, 516, 517, 518, 521 

Abdullah, 479, 499 

Abdul Mejid, Sultan, 56 

Abdul Rasak, 479 

Abd-ur Rahim, 280, 283, 286, 287, 320 

Abdurrahman Khan, Emir, 183 

Abraham, Patriarch, 192 

Abu Mohammed Nomads, 40 

Acesines River, 476 

Achemenian Overlords, 35 

Addan-tso, Lake, 367 

Adrianople, 52 

Afghanistan, 113, 183, 378 

Afghans, 91, 95, 99, 301 

Afrasiab, 96 

Africa, 476, 526 

Afridis, 182, 183 

Aga Mohammed Hassan, 47, 53, 241 

Aga Mohammed Khan, 85 

Agra, 372 

Ahasuerus, 35 

Ahmed Ahun, 215 

Ahmed Mergen, 177, 187, 189, 193, 197, 206, 
207 

Ahuramazda, 65 

Ahriman, 65 

Akato-tagh Mts., 300, 318 

Ak-Baital Pass, 119 

Akhal-Turkomans, 88: 

Aksai-chin, 385 

Aksai-chin, Lake, 385 

Aksakal, 123, 198, 206, 215 

Ak Serai Palace, 107 

Aksu, 175, 177, 178, 210, 251 

Aksu River, 260 

Ala Hasret, 62 

Alai Mts., 114, 115, 520 

Alai Valley, 113, 115, 116, 117 

Ala-shan Desert, 238 

Aldat, 301, 302, 303, 305, 307, 308, 309, 310, 
311, 312, 338 

Aleppo, 93 

Alexander III, Czar, 106, 136 


Alexander of Battenberg, 52 

Alexander Range, 103 

Alexander the Great, 35, 64, 77, 84, 93, 187, 
379, 476 

Alexander the Great, Grave of, 97 

Ali, 73, 74 

Ali, Imam, 85, 121 

Ali Akbar, 50, 51 

Alim, 251, 262, 267 

Al-Mansur, Caliph, 42, 64 

Altmish-bulak, 287, 320, 321 

Altmish-bulak Spring, 280 

Alps, The, 514, 516 

Alvand, Peak of, 51 

Amban, 124 

Amber, 373 

Amdo-mochu, 350 

American Missionary Society of the Christian 
Alliance, 239 

Amitabha, 429 

Amitabha Buddha, 429, 430, 432 

Amu-daria River, 87, 90, 113, 116, 181 

Anambaruin-gol Valley, 319 

Anambarum-ula Mts., 318 

Ana Tsering, 357 

Anau, 87 

Andere, 279 

Andes Mts., 132 

Andishan, 247, 248 

Andrée, 244 

Angden-la Pass, 451, 477 

Anglo-Chinese Treaty, 435 

Anglo-Indian Telegraph-line, 32 

Anglo-Russian Boundary Commission, 181, 
244 

Anglo-Russian Treaty, 478 

Angora, 93 

Annar Joo, 371 

Annenkoff, Gen., 88, 110 

Apsheron, Peninsula of, 20 

Araba, 103, 128 

Arabakesh, 138 

Arabia, 38 

“Arabian Nights,” Story of the, 42 

Arabs, 41, 43, 44 

Arafat, Mt., 40 

Aral Sea, 87, 90, 111, 181, 248 

Ara-tagh Mts., 303 

Arctic Ocean, 245 

Aris River, 112 

Ark, The, 317 

Ark, 82 


527 


528 INDEX 


Arka-tagh Mts., 216, 218 219, 303, 304, 305, 


336, 337, 519 
Armenia, 40 


Armenians, 19, 20, 22, 32, 43 
Arnold, Edwin, 474 
Arport-tso Lake, 485 
Arrian, 476 

Aryans, 99 

Asarhaddon, 40 

Asa River, 103 

Ashur, 97 

Asia, 20, 96 

Asia Minor, 377 

Asiatic Russia, 247 
Asiatics, 462 
Asis-i-Sultan, 72 
Askabad, 87 

Assam, 459 

Assyria, 40 

“Assyria,” S.S., 38 
Asterabad, 79, 81 
Astin-tagh, Mts., 300, 328 
Astrakhan, 21, 373 

Ata Bai, 97 

Ataman, 109 

Athens, 330 

Atkins, Tommy, 419 

Aul, 97, 115, 122, 180 
Aulie Ata, 103 

Avat, 260 

Avesta, 89 

Ayag-kum-kol, Lake, 316, 334, 335, 336 
Azov, Sea of, 18 


B 


Bab-i-Seadet Gate of Sultan’s Palace, 57 
Babr Khan, 73 

Babur, Sultan, 107 

Babylon, 34, 40 

Babylonia, 40 

Baby Puppy, 484, 487, 498, 500, 515, 516 
Backlund, Dr., 200 

Badakshan, 64 

Bagdad, 40, 42, 44, 47, 93, 379, 534 
Bahadur, 94 

Bahrein Islands, 64 

Baiga, 126 

Bailey, Major, 375, 419 

Bairam Ali, 89 

Bajazet, Sultan, 93 

Baku, 16, 20, 21, 22, 24, 30, 52, 59, 68 
Bakuba, 45 

Balakhany, 21, 59 

Balalaika, 359 

Baltic Sea, 17 

Baluchistan, 377 

Bani, 226 

Bao-to, 239 

Bao-yah-ching, 239 

Barfrush, 51 


Barrakpore, 372 

Basang Valley, 451 

Bas Ghul, 379 

Bashkirs, 110 

Bash-kol, Lake, 273 

Bash-kum-kol, Lake, 304 

Bashlik, 110, 273, 355, 395) 399 

Basra, 38, 39, 40 

Bass, Miss, 372 

Batum, 52, 59, 376 

Bayazid, 377 

Bayir, 274 

Bedouins, 43 

Beg, 22 

Beglik-kol, Lake, 295 

Bek, 98, 120, 125, 126, 260, 265, 268, 270, 
280 

Belarum, 373 

Belcher Family, 237 

Belem, 30 

Belgian Missionaries, 237 

Beligatti, Cassiano, 317 

Bell, Mr., 419 

Benares, 372 

Bendersky, 182 

Ben-i-Said Caravansary, 45 

Bennett, James Gordon, 15 

Ben Nursu, 354 

Bering Strait, 15, 244 

Berlin, 246 

Berlin, University of, 53 

Berlin Geographical Society, 246 

Besh Barmak, 97 

Bhutan, 404, 423 

Bibi-Khanum, 95 

Bible, The, r10, 142, 160, 178, 407 

Big Blackie, 141, 148, 149, 151, 152 

Big Fawnie, 141 

Bihasht, 95, 257 

Bikom Sing, 379 

Binalud Mts., 83 

Bismarck, 241 

Black Bazaar in Baku, 22 

Black City, The, 59 

Black Lake, The, 351 

Black Sea, 18, 21, 52, 59, 376 

Black Town, 21 

Blue Lake, The, 234, 369 

Bodhisattva Avalokiteshvara, 429 

Boghak, 185 

Boghra, 141, 143, 150 

Bogtsang-tsangpo River, 368, 404, 406, 410 

Bokhara, 87, 89, 102, 109, 113, 334 

Bokhara-i-Sherif, 90 

Boksam, 211 

Bolu, 412 

Bombay, 38, 65, 373 

Bombay, Governor of, 373 

Bombo-Chimbo, 405 

Bombo-chimbo, 401 

Bonaparte, Roland, 246 


Bongba, 496, 503, 535, 519 


INDEX 529 


Bongba Changma, 496 No. 329, 490 
Bonin, Charles E., 273 No. 341, 492 
Bonvalot, 200, 223, 303, 347, 356 No. 390, 503 
Book of Esther, The, 35 No. 391, 504 
Book of Tobit, The, 30, 64 No. 500, 384, 525 
Borasan, 186 Canada, Governor-General of, 379 
Bosporus Strait, 54, 56, 59 Candler, Edmund, 357 
Bostan, 81 Capernaum, 462 
Boxer Uprising, 239, 333 Capuchins, 317 
Bower, 368 Carey, 142, 200, 381 
Brahmaputra, Source of the, 455 “Carmen,” 258 
Brahmaputra River, 375, 412, 413, 415, 416, Caspian Gates, The, 64 

468, 477 Caspian Sea, 16, 20, 21, 24, 36, 51, 79, 75) 
Brahma’s soul, 461 87, 108, 111, 247, 373, 376 
Brahmins, 254 . Cassel, Sir Ernest, 372 
Brebung Monastery, 431 Cassini, Count, 240 
British Kashmir, 113 Catholics, 237, 380, 382 
Brown Puppy, 381, 395, 436, 456, 479, 481, Caucasia, 108, 109 

484, 487, 493, 494, 497 Caucasians, 18, 91 
Buck, Mr., 478 Caucasus Mts., 17, 18, 20, 21, 376 
Budapest, Univ. of, 36 Central Asia, 244 
Buddha, 186, 187, 188, 193, 226, 229, 323, Chaga, 441 

342, 380, 422, 428, 430, 440, 442, 444 Chakchom-la Pass, 402 
Buddhism 185, 429 Chakmakden-kul, 181 
Budkhaneh, 226 Chaktak-tsangpo River, 451, 502, 512 
Bujentu-bulak Spring, 283 Chal-tumak Glacier, 130 
Bukhain-gol River, 234 Chan Dao Tai, 123 
Bulak, 482 Chang, 428 
Bulak-bashi- 216 Chang, 415 
Bulun-kul, 120, 121, 123 Chang-chenmo, 384 
Bulungir-gol, Lake, 319 Chang-la Pass, 383 
Buptsang-tsangpo River, 502, 510, 515 Chang-la-Pod-la Pass, 449, 452 
Burial-Ground, A, 65 Chang-lung-yogma Pass, 384 
Buriats, 317, 334, 336, 357 Changpa, 401 
Burj, 81 Chang-tang, 401, 409, 413, 420, 452, 477, 
Buru, 215 484, 507 
Bushir, 37, 38, 47 Chan-Kuoh-ts’eh, 325 


Chao Darin, 121 
Chapari, 30 


Cc Chaparkhaneh, 30 
Charchan, 369 
Cesar, Julius, 379 Chardeh, 79, 80 
Calcutta, 372, 411, 435 Charkhlik, 204, 301, 316, 318, 319, 332, 333, 
Calvert, 477 334, 336, 342, 352 
Campbell-Bannerman, Sir Henry, 377 Charkhlik-su Valley, 335 
Camps: Chargut-tso, Lake, 364, 367, 471 
No. 1, 384 Charles XII, King, 49 
No. 8, 385, 482, 485 Charvadar, 79, 87 
No. 15, 385, 386 Charyip-gompa Monastery, 468 
No. xxiv, 210 Chatyr-kul Lake, 102 
No. 44, 342, 395 Chegelik-ui, 297 
No. 47, 396 Chehel Sutun Palace, 32 
No. 51, 397 Cherniaieff, Gen., 96 
No. 53, 352 Cherchen, 205, 278, 279, 298, 314, 329 
No. 56, 398 Cherchen-daria River, 205, 278, 279, 280 
No. 97, 407 Cherdon, 280, 294, 302, 303, 304, 306, 308, 
No. 100, 407 310, 31%, 314, 315, 316, 318, 334, 335, 
No. 107, 409 336, 342, 367, 373 
No. 150, 450 Chernoff, 249, 271, 283, 285, 286, 287, 289, 
No. 283, 482 291, 293, 294, 297, 298, 332, 333, 336, 
No. 300, 484 337, 339, 340, 359, 373 


No. 306, 485 Chesang-la Pass, 413 


530 


Chetara, 95 

Chief of the Rising Sun, 202 

Chieng Lung, 241 . 

Chien Lung, Emperor, 430 

Chien Lung Dynasty, 379 

Chimborazo, 132 

Chimen-tagh Mts., 300, 303 

Chimkent, 103, 112 

China, 97, 200, 283, 333, 352, 428, 478 

China, Emperor of, 238 

China Inland Mission, 236 

Chinas, 104 

Chinese, 99, 113, 134, 236, 237, 240, 434, 
436, 477 

Chinese Ideographs, 323, 326 

Chinese in Lou-lan, 325 

Chinese Pamir, 121 

Chinese Passport, 380, 381, 409, 477 

Chinese Territory, 379 

Chinese Turkestan, 97, 109, 113 

Chinnebagh, 99 

Chita, 280, 373 

Chiu-gompa Monastery, 468, 469, 521 

Choka-tagh Mt., 256 

Chokchu, 517 

Chol-kol, Lake, 257 

Chomo-uchong Mts., 451, 503, 510 

Chorten, 235, 419, 430, 493 

Christians, 462 

Christmas, 137, 185, 276, 372, 406, 483 

Chugatai Pass, 120 

Chunit-tso, Lake, 501 

Circassians, 19, 243 

Cities in the Desert, 185, 283 

City of Roses and Poets, The, 36 

City of the Dead, The, 58 

City of the Winds, The, 58 

City of Vegetables, The, 82 

Clavijo, Ruy Gonzales de, 93, 107 

Colorado Canyon, 523 

Connolly, Captain, 91 

Conrady, Prof. A., 325, 326, 327 

Constantine, Emperor, 55 

Constantinople, 52, 53, 54, 56, 376 

Contantinovskaya, 111 

Cooper, Fenimore, 15 

Corna, 39 

Cossacks, 18, 96, 99, 102, 109, 112, 123, 120, 
136, 182, 183, 240, 243, 247, 249, 250, 
251, 270, 271, 273, 280, 281, 283, 294, 
298, 335, 336, 337, 338, 339) 354, 3575 
360, 365, 368, 373, 374, 491 

Country of Seven Rivers, The, 102 

Courland, 104 

Crosby, 385 

Crown Prince, Swedish, 457 

Cunningham, Sir Alexander, 519 

Curzon, Lady, 372 

Curzon of Kedleston, Lord, 333, 356, 372, 

_ 376, 377, 379; 519 

Craniological Museum of Stockholm, 69 

Ctesiphon, 41, 42 


INDEX 


Cyrus, Tomb of, 34 
Cyrus the Great, 65, 71 


D 


Dalai Lama, 316, 354, 357, 363, 409, 419; 
422, 428, 429 

Dalai-kurgan, 214, 215 

“Dalbyo” Estate, 54 

Dalgleish, 142, 200, 215, 381 

Damascus, 47, 93 

Dambak-gong, 455 

Damghan, 79 

Dandan-uilik, 188 

Dane, Sir Louis, 377 

Dangra-yum-tso, Lake, 386, 394, 405, 408, 
410, 411, 450, 513, 514, 517 

Dao Tai, 99, 178, 206, 236 

Dapsang Mts., 483 

Daraut-kurgan, 115, 116 

Dardanelles, The, 54 

Dar-es-Salam, 42 

Dar-es-Saltanet, 27 

Daria-i-nur Diamond, 63 

Darius I, 35, 77 

Darius III Codomanus, 77 

Darius Hystaspes, 89 

Darvase, 98 

Dastarkhan, 60, 106, 107, 127 

Daya Kishen Kaul, 379 

Dead River, 285 

Dead Sea, The, 308 

Dead Water, The, 24 

Deasy, Captain, 392, 485, 491 

Deh-i-Namak, 79 

Dehra Dun, 377 

Dekkan, 373 

Delhi, 85, 93, 372 

De Long, Captain, 15 

Demavend, Mt., 70, 73, 78 

De Rhins, Dutreuil, 215, 235, 356, 381 

Dervishes, 379 

Desert, The, 138 

Desert Grey, 284 

Desert Lake, The, 257 

Desideri, Ippolito, 317 

Deubner, Colonel, 97 

Devashung, 362, 403, 451, 506, 508 

Devil’s Lake, The, 468 

Dexippos, 330 

Dhaulagiri Mts., 457 

Dhyani Buddha, 428 

“Die chinesischen Handschriften und son- 
stigen Kleinfunde,” by Hedin, 325 

Ding-la Pass, 518 

Diripu-gompa Monastery, 472, 475 

Disaster to Caravan, 154 

Discoveries in Lou-lan, 325 

“Divan, The,” by Hafiz, 35 

Divband (Demavend), 73 

Diyala River, 45 


INDEX 


Dolma Bagche Palace, 56 

Dolma-la Pass, 474 

Don River, 18 

Dorche, 226, 227, 230 

Dorche Tsudn, 507, 508, 509, 510, 511 

D’Orville, 317 

Dovlet I, 248, 251, 258 

Dovlet II, 263, 272, 274 

Dovlet of Bokhara, 334, 335, 336, 337 

Drugub, 383, 478, 479, 516 

Drum-Tower at Meshhed, 86 

Dry Mountains, The, 280 

Dry River, The, 201 

Dsun-sasak Mongols, 235 

Duan Suen, 421 

Duga, 96 

Dukang, 443 

Dulan-kit Monastery, 234 

Dumbok-tso, Lake, 406 

Dunglik, 299 

Dungtsa-tso, Lake,. 402 

Dunlop-Smith, Col. Sir James, 378, 386, 408, 
460, 477 


Dupkang, 444 
Dural, 280 


Dwelling of Peace, The, 42 


E 


“Eagle” The, 244, 245 

Eastern Tibet, 300 

East Turkestan, 98, 185, 190, 208, 214, 216, 
229, 242, 258, 314, 379, 380, 382, 409, 
421, 477, 481 

East Turkestan Language, 248 

Ecbatana, 51, 65 

Edward VII, King, 247 

Edwards, Milne, 246 

Egyptians, 476 

Elba, 379 

Elburz Mts., 24, 26, 27, 28, 51, 79 

Elephant River, The, 46 

El-Mahdi, 85 | 

El-Yezireh, 40 

Emaret Sepa Salar Palace, 62 

Embassy to Shah of Persia, 59 

Emin-i-Sultan, 73 

Emin Pasha, 397 

Emir of Bokhara, 102 

England, 478 

Englishmen, 39 

Enseli, 24, 59 

- Erzerum, 377 

Esther, Tomb of, 51 

Etemad-e-Saltanet, 72 

Ethiopians, 476 

Ettek-tarim River, 280 

Euphrates River, 38, 40 

Eurasian, 380 

Europe, 428 

Everest, Mt., 414 

Ezra, Tomb of, 40 


531 


Fagergren, Dr., 36 

Fagu, 525 

Fa Hien, 185 

Faizullah, 248, 271, 283, 289, 293, 318, 331, 


333 
Fargues, M., 36 
Farsistan Mountains, 36 
Farther Mountains, The, 216 
Father of the Ice-Mountains, The, 121, 128, 
132, 133 
Fatima, 30 
Faure, Felix, 246 
Ferghana, 96, 113, 128 
Ferrash, 28, 62, 71, 76 
Feuvrier, Dr., 70 
Fighting Four Governments, 375, 435, 478 
Finland, 108, 244 
Finland, Gulf of, 17 
Flea Bazaar, The, 124 
Flying Dutchman, 282 
Fong Shi, 213, 215, 216 
Foreign Office, Russian, 240 
Foreign Secretary in India, British, 377 
Forsyth, 382 
Founders’ Medal, The, 246 
Chram, |. 9.53245 
France, President of, 246 
Franklin, 15 
French East Indies, 215 
French Language, 20 
Freyre, Manuel, 317 
“Frithiof’s Saga,’ 36 


G 


Gabet, Abbé, 317, 343 

Giabuk-la Pass, 503 

Gaffar, 479 

Galata, 54 

Galdan Monastery, 431 

Gandan-chéding Convent, 439 

Ganderbal, 381 

Ganges River, 253, 254, 360, 456, 459 

Gang-lung Mts., 463 

Ganglung-gangri Mts., 460 

Ganpat Sing, 379 

Garden of Eden, The, 39 

Gar-gunsa, 477, 478 

Garpun, 477 

Gartok, 381, 434, 460, 475, 477, 517 

Gate of Felicity, The, 57 

Gate of the Gates of the Earth, The, 64 

Gaura, 525 

Gaw Daloi, 435 

Gazelle Pass, The, 515 

Geijer, C. E. von, 54 

Gelugpas, 431 

Gennesaret, Sea of, 462 

“Geographical Journal,’ The, 211, 246, 329, 
375, 419, 454, 520 


$43 


Geok-tepe Hill, 81, 88, 89 

Georgians, 19 

Gerard, General, 182 

German Missionaries, 523 

Gertse, 402, 475 

Gertse Pun, 493 

Gez-daria River, 121, 122 

Ghalaring-tso, Lake, 516 

Girl’s Pass, The, 36 

Gladstone, 241 

Goa-la Pass, 515 

Gobi, 226 

Gobi Desert, 280, 318 

Godaur Station, 18 

Goklan Turkomans, 8r 

Gol, 226 

Golden Horn, The, 54, 57 

Golodnaya Steppe, 96 

Gom-jima, 347 

Gompa, 430 

Gompa-sarpa, 433 

Goose Island, 470 

Gordon Pasha, 379 

Gosul-gompa Monastery, 463, 464, 468 

Goths, 329 

Gova, 404, 455, 456, 457, 469, 471, 474, 499, 
515, 518 

Government House, Calcutta, 372 

Govo, 449 

Greco-Buddhistic Art, 186 

Grand Lama, 424, 429, 430 

Grand Mogul of Hindustan, First, 107 

Great Britain, 113 

Great Chieftain, The, 4o1 

Great Mogul of Delhi, 63 

Great Wall of China, 238 

Green Hill, The, 88 

Green Hills, The, 219 

Green Lake, The, 390 

Grenard, 381 

Grueber, 317 

Grusian Road, 18 

Guffa, 42, 44 

Guffaru, 382, 383, 416, 419, 451, 452, 453, 
457, 458, 460 

Gulam, 479, 481, 484, 485, 493, 498, 500, 
505, 512, 521 

Gulam, 50 

Gulam Moheddin Khan, 183 

Gulam Razul, 381, 469, 478, 489 

Gulang Hiraman, 371 

“Gulistan,” by Sadi, 35 

Gunsang Ngurba, 449 

Gur-i-Iskander-Bek, 97 

Gurkhas, 99, 182, 377 

Gurla, 468 

Gurla-mandata, Mt., 460, 461, 462 

Gusheh, 79 

Gustav, King, 478 

Gyalpo Rinpoche, 428 

Gyangtse, 410, 411, 434, 435, 508 


INDEX 


Haddtk, 354, 421 

Hafiz, 35, 90, 93 

Haji, 404, 407 

Haji Baba, 489, 500 

Haji Naser Shah, 382 

Hall, 236 

Hall of Gods, The, 472 

Hamadan, 50, 51 

Hamdan Bai, 215 

Hamidieh Cavalry, 377 

Hammam, 96 

Hamra, 138, 147 

Hamra II, 260, 272 

Han Dynasty, 325 

Harun-ar-Rashid, 27, 42, 64, 77, 85 

Harun-ar-Rashid, Favourite Wife of, 42 

Hashemabad, 67 

Hassan, Imam, 85 

Hassan Bek, 184 

Hastings, Warren, 430 

Hayden, Sir Henry Hubert, 419, 514 

Hazret Apak, 100 

Hazret Ibrahim, 192 

Hazret Sultan Khoja, 112 

Head of the Spring, The, 216 

Heart of Asia, The, 96, 206 

Heavenly Lake of the Throne-Mountains, 
The, 514 

Helleberg, Mr. and Mrs., 239 

Hendricks, Father, 99, 100, 123, 137, 248, 


373 

Henry III, King of Castile and Leon, 93 

Henry of Orleans, Prince, 200, 215, 223 

Herat, 48, 89 

Hermes, Image of, 327 

Herodotus, 42 

Hesarmestjid Mts., 87 

Hettasch, 372 

High Tibet, 331, 516 

“Hill of Greeting,” The, 84 

Hilpern, Mr., 44 

Himalayan Mts., 113, 360, 375, 376, 377, 378, 
384, 413,414, 417, 451, 456, 457, 458, 
476, 477, 503, 519, 520, 521, 525 

imly, Karl, 325 

Hindu-kush, 93, 113, 181, 244 

Hindus, 182, 382, 468, 471 

Hindustani, 381 

Hlabsen Dorje Barvas, 463 

Hlaje Tsering, 362, 364, 367, 408, 409, 411, 
412, 450 

Hoglund, Rev., 137, 248 

Ho-lao-lo-kia, 186 

Holdich, Col. Sir Thomas, 182 

Holuin-gol River, 230 

Holy City, The, 317, 343, 356, 418 

“Holy Ice-Mountain,” The, 474 

Holy Lake, The, 458, 460, 461, 468, 513, 514 

Holy Mountain, The, 471, 472, 508, 517 

Holy River, The, 415, 418 


INDEX 


Holy Wisdom, The, 54 

Home of the Spirits, The, 73 
Hormus, 65 

Houses Built by the Lord, The, 272 
Huc, Abbé, 234, 236, 317, 343 
Hugli River, 457, 459 

Hulagu, 42 

Hunserab River, 181 

Hunter, 236 

Huntington, Ellsworth, 329 
Huron, Lake, 111 

Hussain, Sepulchre of Imam, 51 
Hussein, Imam, 85 

Hutuktu Gigen, 234 

Hven Darin, 198 

Hwang-ho River, 235, 238, 239 
Hybennet, Dr., 28, 64, 67, 70, 71 
Hyderabad, 373 

Hydaspes River, 476 


I 
Ibn Butata, 42 
Iftar, 57 
Ignatieff, Adam, 99, 123 
' Ila, 304 
Imperial Chinese Chief Commissioner in 
Lhasa, 435 


Imperial Chinese Mission, 455 

India, 38, 65, 89, 261, 323, 352, 
428, 451, 461, 476, .478, 481, 
519, 521 

Indian Government, 478 

Indian Ocean, 181, 412, 450, 476, 519 

Indians, 43 

“Indica,” by Arrian, 476 

Indo-Hellenic Art, 186 

Indo-Persian Images, 327 

Indus, Source of the, 472, 508 

Indus River, 181, 375, 383, 385, 468, 472, 
508 

Inner Sea, 476 

Iran, 89 

Irkeshtam, 98 

Irtysh, 111 

Isfairan River, 114 

Ishe, 470, 472, 473 

Iskander Bek, 93 

Islam, 36, 81, 90 

Islam Ahun, 215, 408 

Islam Bai, 114, 124, 128, 134, 136, 138, 140, 


360, 377, 
506, 508, 


14%, 147, 148, 149, 150, 156, 157, 158, 
159; 100, 261,) 162, (376, ,°377). 278, 180, 
185, 187, 193, 195, 198, 201, 206, 213, 
AIA REO 22k 5 R24 237 ys 252502505). 230 5 
238, 239, 243, 248, 251, 252, 253, 256, 
257, 258, 260, 263, 267, 270, 271, 274, 
277, 294, 301, 314, 315, 318, 319, 332, 


333 
Isle, The, 40 
Ismail, Shah, 57 


Bs 5 


Ispahan, 27, 32 
Issik-kul Lake, 103 
Isvostschik, 59 

Ivory Houses, The, 188 


J 


Jackson, 397 

Jafar, 73, 76 

Jagatai Khan, 96, 99 
Jaggatai Turki, 141, 412 
Jaggatai Turks, 91 
Ja-i-kuf, 81 

Jaje-rud River, 70 

Jakut, 89 

Jamtse Singe, 517 
Janaidar, 121, 132 

Jan Daloy, 333 
Janizaries, Court of the, 57 
Japan, 428 

Jaxartes River, 94, 96, 112 
“Jéannette,” S$. Si 15 
Jenghiz Khan, 89, 91, 92, 93, 96, 99 
Jerusalem, 48 

Jews, 19, 43, 9% 

Jeypore, 373 

Jigit, 97, 113 

Jigitovka, 60 

Jiptik, 116 

Jisak River, 104 

Johnson, Governor, 378 
Jukti-la Pass, 477, 518 
Julfa, 32 

Justinian, Emperor, 54 


K 


Kaahka, 87 

Kabul, 183, 381 

Kadakh, 421 

Kader, 248, 251, 259 

Kailas Mt., 403, 439, 460, 461, 463, 471 

Kajeveh, 83 

Ka-la Pass, 516 

Kalgan, 239, 243 

Kaltan, 49, 71 

Kali Gandak River, 457 

Kalim, 136 

Kalmuks, 373 

Kalpet of Keriya, 360, 361, 364 

Kalta-alaghan Mts., 303 

Kamba Bombo, 352, 354, 355; 357, 362, 369 

Kamba Tsenam, 503, 508, 510 

Kamba Tsering, 522 

Kamper-kishlak, 129 

Kampo-lama, 432 

Kanchung-gangri Mts., 512 

Kang Hi, 241 

Kang Hi Dynasty, 379 

Kang Rinpoche Mt., 403, 439, 457, 460, 463, 
464, 471, 472, 517 


534 


Kangsham-tsangpo River, 498 

Kanjur, 432, 440 

Kanjur-lhakang, 432 

Kanjut, 181 

Kanjutis, 182 

Kansk, 243 

Kapurthala, Mabarajah of, 373 

Kara-buran, 172, 202 

Kara-dung, 190 

Kara-kash-daria River, 484 

Kara-korum Pass, 113, 215, 372, 380, 385, 
478, 482, 519 

Kara-koshum Lake, 290, 291, 293, 298, 319, 
331, 332 

Kara-kul Lake, 118, 121, 123, 128, 134 

Kara-kum Desert, 87, 93, 108 

Kara-muran, 279 

Kara-shahr, 198, 280, 316, 334, 335 

Karaul, 270 

Karavan-bashi, 271 

Kargalik, 185 

Kargil, 381 

Karma Puntso, 496, 499 

Karnali River, 468 

Karong-tso, Lake, 515 

Karoshti, 323 

Kasbek, Mt., 19 

Kashan, 31 

Kashgar, 97, 98, 99, 100, 113, 121, 123, 124, 


129, 134, 136, 137, 178, 180, 184, 185, 
206, 244, 248, 249, 271, 297, 298, 332, 
333, 334, 336, 342, 373, 382 

Kashgar-daria River, 138, 140, 142 

Kashgar Range, 121 

Kashmir, 48, 99, 360, 372, 373, 380, 381, 
382, 383, 481 

Kashmir, Maharajah of, 379 

Kashti, 40 

Kasim, 141, 143, 149, 150, 154, 156, 158, 
159, 161, 162, 163, 171, 176, 177, 180, 


210, 211 

Kasim II, 251, 256, 260, 262 

Kasim Ahun, 187, 192, 194, 197, 206, 207 

Kasim Ibn Abbas, 94 

Katmandu, Maharajah of, 457 

Kauffmann, 95 

Kauffmann Peak, 116 

Kavekhaneh, 78 

Kazalinsk, 112 

Kazvin, 27, 28, 60, 61, 377 

Kelat-i-Nadir Fortress, 87 

Kerbela, 44, 51 

Kerbelai Tagi, 73, 75 

Kerim Jan, 97, 187, 199 

Keriya, 205, 214, 301, 302 

Keriya-daria River, 188, 189, 190, 195, 196 
209, 336, 339 

Kermanshah, 44, 46, 47, 50, 241, 518 

Kevir Desert, 79, 377 

Khabardar, 232, 233 

Khadik Effendi, 49, 50 

Khairullah Khan, 379 


’ 


INDEX 


Khalamba-la Pass, 518 
Khalat, 98, 106, 107, 126 
Khaleb, 471, 472, 474 
Kham, 457 
Khan Bahadur, 478 
Khaneka, 259 
Khanoff, Baki, 24, 25, 30 
Khara-kottel Pass, 235 
Khara-nor, Lake, 231, 232 
Khiva, 81, 87, 89, 93 
Khoang Darin, 98 
Khoat, 126 
Khoat Bi, 97 
Khodai Kullu, 283, 289, 294, 318, 331, 332, 
333, 365, 367 
Khodai Verdi, 315, 318, 331 
Khoda-verdi-kol, 170, 173 
Khodier Khan, 96 
Khojent, 96 
Khokand, 96 
Khorasan, 77, 85, 86, 87 
Khosru II Parvez, King, 50 
Khosru Nushirvan, 41 
Khosru’s Bow, 41 
Khotan, 173, 175, 176, 178, 179, 185, 186, 
187, 197, 198, 204, 205, 206, 207, 208, 
| nett 214, 298, 477, 478, 479, 481, 482, 
483 
Khotan-daria River, 142, 144, 146, 147, 150, 
162, 167, 168, 169, 175, 179, 181, 187, 
188, 210, 212, 261, 274, 484 
Kibitka, 97, 99, 111. 
Ki-chu River, 418 
Kilimanjaro, 132 
Kilung-la Pass, 455 
Kinchen-la Pass, 503 
King of Kings, The, 72 
King of the Land South, The, 457 
Kinshal, 18, 22, 24 
Kipchak Kirghiz, 124 
Kipling, 378 
Kirghiz, 91, 97, 410; 11%; 112,°134) 3eeteas 
116, 117, 118, 119, 120, 128, 129, 130, 
133, 134, 136, 181, 183, 248 
Kirghiz Steppe, 110, 111 
Kirgui Pavan, 286, 295 
Kisil-unkur, 482 
Kitab, 106, 107 
Kitchener of Khartum, Lord, 377, 379, 428, 
432 
Kiyiks, 98 
Kizil-art Pass, 118 
Kizil-kum Desert, 96 
Kizil-zu River, 98, 116, r18, 248 
Kodom, 25 
Kok-moinak, 125 
Kako-nor, Lake, 234, 235 
Koko-shili Mts., 219 
Kok-sai, 118 
Konche-daria River, 199, 200, 201, 283, 284 
Koom, 30 
Kopa, 205, 214, 279 


INDEX 


Kore-la Pass, 456, 457 

Korla, 198, 199, 271, 272, 280, 281 

Kotel-i-dukhter Pass, The, 36 

Kozloff, 201, 280, 284 

Kran, 24, 28, 30, 44, 45, 46, 50 

Krasnovodsk, 52, 247 

Kronstadt, 17 

Kubed Gumbed, 78 

Kubi-gangri Mts., 458, 508 

Kubi-tsangpo River, 458, 459 

Kucha, 251, 281, 336 

Kuchar, 209 

Kuchuk, 302, 307, 309, 310, 318, 331, 364, 
365, 367 

Kuen-lun Mts., 113, 142, 209 

Kuhrud, 31, 32 

Kuhrud Mts., 31 

Kulja, 99 

Kul Mohammed, 198 

Kum-bum Monastery, 236, 347 

Kum-chapgan, 293 

Kum-chekkeh, 201 

Kum-darvaseh Gate, 138 

Kumiss, 229 

Kum-rabat-padshahim, 185 

Kunchekkan Bek, 202, 293 

Kunchuk, 479, 481, 493, 497, 512, 521 

Kung Gushuk, Duke, 411, 415, 419, 424, 433 

Kun-lun Mts., 385, 519 

Kura River, 19, 20 

Kurban, 271, 274, 277, 279 

Kurban Ahun, 215 

Kurban bairam, 76 

Kurbanchik Gorge, 283 

Kurchin, 25, 67 

Kurdistan, 40, 44 

Kurd Robbers, 46 

Kurlyk-nor, Lake, 230 

Kuropatkin, General, 87, 88, 247 

Kuruk-daria River, 287, 322 

Kuruk-tagh Mts., 280, 281, 283 

Kustana, 185 

Kut-el-Amara, 41, 379 

Kutus, 479, 482, 484, 485, 493, 500, 502, 505, 
§06; 512, 521 

Kwei-hwa-chung, 239 

Kyunglung Monastery, 522 


L 


Labrang, The, 410, 423, 430, 432, 436 

Lache-to Island, 470 

Ladak, 334, 360, 361, 368, 371, 
423, 451, 455, 458, 460, 471, 
495, 507, 508, 521 

Ladakis, 371, 386, 393, 411, 434, 442, 452, 
454, 458, 479, 489, 492 

Lagba, 433 

Lahore, 372, 381 

Lailik, 250, 253, 261, 267 

Lake No. XIV, 223 


382, 383, 
477, 478, 


535 


Lakor-tso, Lake, 368 

Lamaism, 316, 419, 422, 453 
Lama Rinpoche, 445, 446 

Lamas, 316 

Lamayooroo Monastery, 381 
Lame, The, 412 

Land Between the Rivers, The, 40 
Lanek-la Pass, 384 

Langa-chen Mts., 459 

Langar, 115 

Langchen-kamba River, 460 
Langak-tso, Lake, 468, 469, 471 
Langbo-nan, 521 
Langbo-nan-gompa Monastery, 468 
Lansa, 199, 421 

Lapchung-tso, Lake, 512 

Lar’ River, 70, 72 

Largap, 450 

Largest River in the Heart of Asia, 256 
La-rok, 415 

La-rok Pass, 414 

Larson, Missionary, 239 

Last Days, The, 163 

Lazarists, French, 317 

Leh, 371, 372, 373, 380, 381, 383, 384, 392, 


397, 415, 420, 436, 478, 490 
Lehlung-gompa Monastery 443 


Leipzig, 325 

Lemchung-tso, Lake, 491 

Lenin, 88 

Lessar, 108 

Lewenhaupt, Count Claes, 54 

Lhakang, 438 

Lhasa, 225, 235, 316, 317, 320, 334, 335, 339) 
340, 342, 353, 354, 356, 359, 361, 362, 
367, 369, 381, 397, 402, 403, 409, 415, 
416, 418, 419, 421, 422, 428, 434, 435, 


451, 452, 458, 477, 498 - 
Lhasa Government, 470 


Liang-chow-fu, 237 

Li Daloi, 199 

Li Darin, 204 

Lien Darin, 435, 436, 451, 508 

Lighten, Lake, 385 

Li Hung Chang, 241, 242 

Likse-gompa Monastery, 456 

Li Loye, 318, 319, 334, 335 

Linga-gompa Monastery, 443, 444, 445 

Ling6, 442 

Lithographic Institute General Army Staff, 
Stockholm, 325 

Little Blackie, 141 

Littledale, 192, 200, 279, 303, 356, 368, 519 

Little Fawnie, 141 

Liu Darin, 187, 206, 207, 208, 213, 214 

Living Buddha, The, 234, 236 

Livingstone, 15 

Lobsang, 230, 231, 232, 233, 235, 236 

Lobsang II, 479, 485, 490, 492, 496, 502, 
512, 516, 518, 521 

Lobsang Tsering, 402 

Lobsang Tsering Lama, 421, 422 


536 


Loess, 249 

Lo Gapu, Prince, 457 

Lokman, 27 

London, 246, 377, 380, 435, 457 

Longwood, 378 

Lop Country, 294, 327 

Lop Desert, 139, 192, 197, 200, 280, 309, 314 

Lopliks, 282 

Lop Men, 265, 268, 269, 272, 273, 274, 283, 
293, 294, 298, 368 

Lop-nor, Lake, 98, 181, 198, 200, 201, 202, 
244, 248, 249, 250, 280, 291, 301, 318, 
319, 322, 326 

Los Angeles, 110 

Losar, 422 

Lou-lan, 325, 331, 369 

Lourdes, 460 

Lucknow, 372 

Lundup Tsering, 450 

Lunkar-gompa Monastery, 515 

Lunkar-la Pass, 515 


Lunpo-gangri Mt., 455, 477, 502, 503 


M 


Ma, 421, 432, 435, 436, 45% 

Macartney, Sir George, 99, 123, 137, 178, 
182, 248, 273 

MacDonald, General, 419 

Macedon, 35 

McKinley, Mt., 132 

McSwiney, Colonel, 182, 373 

Mader-i-Suleiman, 34 

Madras, 380, 381 

Madrasah, 91, 93 

Madrasah-i-Shirdar College, 95 

Mecenas, 16 

Magi, The, 65 

Magianism, 65 

Mahdi, The, 379 

Mahmandar, 60 

Mahomet the Prophet, 45, 141, 258, 259, 368 

Mahmud, King of Hindustan, 93 

Maidan-i-Shah Plaza, 32 

Makdum Kuli Khan, 88 

Malchik, 281, 298, 302, 318, 373 

Malek Ahun, 280, 283 

Malenki, 281, 298, 318, 343, 345, 358, 373 

Ma Li, 325 

Mametieff, Kul, 119 

“Manasa-khanda,” 461 

Manasarovar, Lake, 451, 460, 461, 468, 472, 
517, 521 

Mandarlik, 294, 301, 302, 309 

Mangal, 95 

Mant, 314, 350, 413, 442, 493 

Manuel, 380, 381 

Manuel’s Friend, 381 

Maracanda, 93 

Maral-bashi, 139, 250 

Marchar-tso, Lake, 412 


INDEX 


Marco Polo, 117, 139, 185, 187, 197, 200, 
330 

Marga, 89 

Margelan, 97, 110, 113, 182, 198 

Mariam-la Pass, 375 

Markham, Sir Clements, 246, 375 

Marmora, Sea of, 54, 57 

Marsimik-la Pass, 384 

Marx, Mr., 524 

Masar, 121 

Masar-tagh Mts., 142, 144, 210, 211, 212, 
256 

Masenderan, 81 

Mashka, 272, 273, 283, 298, 300 

Masra, 27 

May Day, 157 

Mazar Khojam, 259 

Mecca, 19, 31, 44, 47, 48, 312, 454 

Mediterranean Sea, 476 

Mehman-yoli, 182, 183 

Mej-ed-dovleh, 71 

“Mejidieh,” S. S., 39, 41, 42 

Mendjil, 26 

Mendong-gompa Monastery, 499, 514, 515 

Merdasht, 35 

Merket, 140, 142, 143, 159, 250, 253 

Merv Oasis, 89 

Meshhed, 77, 79, 84, 85, 93 

Mesjed-i-Shah Palace, 32 

Mesopotamia, 109, 379 

Mesopotamia to Bagdad, 38 

Mestjid-i-Kalan, 92 

Miandasht Caravansary, 81 

Middle Gate, The, 57 

Middle Kingdom, The;,. 240 

“Mikhajl,” S. S., 59 

Minto, Lady, 377 

Minto, Lord, 377, 378, 379, 428, 525 

Mir-Arab School, 93 

Miran, 293 

Mirsa-Rabat, 104 

Mirza Misak, 49, 50 

Mirza Ullug Beg College, 95 

Mohammed Aga, General, 60 

Mohammedans, 28, 95, 226, 232, 281, 
311, 312, 318, 336, 339, 361, 364, 
373, 382, 454, 479, 503 

Mohammed Bai, 190, 191, 193 

Mohammed Isa, 381, 384, 385, 386, 391, 395, 
396, 398, 401, 404, 406, 408, 409, 415, 
416, 419, 422, 426, 429, 434, 437, 449, 
451, 452, 453, 454, 482, 485, 512 

Mohammed Shah, 141, 143, 151, 154, 
159, 161, 257 

Mohammed the Conqueror, 55, 56 

Mohammed Tokta, 368 

Molja River, 279 

Mollah, 258, 259, 263, 318, 323 

Mollah, 93 

Mollah Islam, 127, 129, 130 

Mollah Shah, 279, 297, 302, 311, 314, 


335, 481 


283, 
372, 


158, 


334, 


INDEX 


Monasteries, 438 

-Mongolia, 200, 239, 242, 243, 423 

Mongolian Pilgrims, 363 

Mongolians, 42, 64, 79, 91, 99, 316, 317, 319 

Mongol Language, 334, 345 

Mont Blanc, 129, 132, 220 

Montefik Nomads, 40 

Montgomerie, Captain, 516 

Moravian Mission, 523 

More, 258 

Morley of Blackburn, Lord, 377, 378, 379 

Moru, 89 

Moscow, 17, 54, 106, 108, 109, 241 

Moses, 121 

Mother of Solomon Monument, 34 

Mountain of the Saint’s Tomb, The, 142 

Muglib, 382 

Muravieff, Ambassador, 81 

Murdab Lagoon, 24 

Muren, 226 

Murgab, 113, 119 

Musa, 283, 284, 296 

Mus-kol Valley, 119 

Mus-kuran Pass, 134 

Mussaffar-ed-Din, Shah, 63, 377 

Mustagh, 99 

Mustagh-ata Mountain, 113, 121, 124, 125, 
127, §28,. 530, 136 

My-chu River, 413, 442, 443 

My-chu Valley, 442 

My King’s Serai in the Sand, 185 


N 


Nadir Shah, 63, 77 

Nadir Shah, Grave of, 85 

Nagara-Chaldi, 98 

Nagara-khaneh, 86 

Nagrong, 493, 494 

Naiji-muren Valley, 227 

Nain Sing, 368, 375, 407, 450, 458, 459, 477, 
495, 513 

pee: 235, 317, 352, 353, 357, 362, 403, 
40 

Nakchu River, 316 

Nakchu, Governor of, 317 

Nakchu Hlundup, 495 

Nakchu Tundup, 495 

Naktsang, 363, 403, 406, 410 

Naktsang, Governor of, 362, 404, 408, 409 

Naktsang-tso, Lake, 361, 364 

Nama-shu, 457 

Namchen, 509 

Namgang Lama, 439 

Namgang Rinpoche, 439 

Namgyal, 419, 472, 473 

Namla-gompa Monastery, 457 

Namru, 363 

Nangra-yum-tso, 434 

Nan-kou Valley, 239 


be Vf 


Nansen, Fridtjof, 245 

Nanso Lama, 356 

Napoleon I, 379 

Narinsk, 102, 103 

Narrow Corridor, The, 125 

Naser, 251, 252 

Nasr-ed-Din Shah, 29, 30, 53, 54, 62, 70, 77 

Nasretabad, 377 

Nasr-ullah, Emir, 91 

Nepal, 423, 449, 456, 457, 458, 508 

Nepal, Maharajah of, 457 

Nepalis, 434, 449 

Neva Quay, 17 

Névé, 122, 459 

Nevra Khan, 136 

New Lake, The, 271 

New-Year Festival, 415, 418, 421, 432 

New Year’s Eve in the Desert, 319 

New York, 109 

Nganglaring-tso, Lake, 451, 516 

Ngangtse-tso Lake, 405, 407, 410, 434, 450 

Ngari-tsangpo River, 523 

Ngavang, 507 

Ngurbu Tundup, 411, 413, 415 

Ngurup, 524 

Nias, 302, 311 

Nias Bek, 124 

Nias Haji, 248, 271 

Nicholas I, 19 

Nicholas II, Czar, 242, 243, 247, 332, 333, 
374 

Nile River, 476, 477 

Nima-lung-la Pass, sor 

Nima Tashi, 510, 512, 513 

Nimrod, 312 

Nine Sand-Mountains, The, 268 

Nineveh, 40 

Ning-sha, 237, 238 

Nirvana,. 445, 448, 474 

Nishapur, 64, 83, 84 

Niya, 214 

Noah, 317 

Nobel, Emanuel, 247, 376 

Nobel, Ludwig, 16, 21 

Nobel, Robert, 16, 21 

Noh, 369 

Nor, 226 

Nordenskidld, 15, 54, 244, 333 

Northcote, Lord, 373 

Northeast Passage, 15 

Northern Tibet, 395, 401, 480, 516 

North Plain, The, 401 

North Pole, 15, 16, 244, 245 

Norvo, 238 

Norway, 63 

Nova Zembla, 15 

Novorossiysk, 108 

Numet Bek, 293 

Nushki, 377 

Nyandi- gompa Monastenys 472 

Nyang-chu, 419 

Nyuku, 455 


538 


O 


Oang Gya, 507, 509 
Obo, 225, 226, 230, 314 
O’Connor, Captain, 410, 434, 435 
Old Man, 141, 148, 149, I51, 152 
Old Woman Pass, The, 36 
Olympias, 476 
Omaha, 110 
Omar, Caliph, 65 
Omdurman, 379 
One-Hump, 141, 178 
Orange Free State, 379 
335, 343, 344, 345, 361, 367 
Orenburg 109, 110 
Orientals, 19 
Orsk, 110 
Orta Kapu Gate, 57 
Orthodox Cossacks, 281, 336 
Oscar Me King, 53, 242, 244, 247, 333, 374, 
37 
Osh, 97, 248, 258, 283, 372, 373 
Osman Ghasi Pasha, 57 
Otrar, 94 
Oxus River, 96 


te 


Pabla Ridge, 412, 413 

Pai-Kabak, 95 

Palace of Forty Pillars, The, 32 

Palander, Admiral, 15 

Palekeh, 79 

Palta; 251; °257,.258 

Pamir, The, 90, .97, 113, 120, 125, 134, 136, 
138, 178, 179, 180, 244 

Pamirsky Post, 113, 119, 134 

Pan, 254 

Panchen Lobsang Palden Yishe, 430 

Panchen Rinpoche, 421, 428 

Panchor, 510, 512, 513, 515 

Panggong-tso, Lake, 371, 372, 383 

Panj River, 181 

Papash, 22 

Paris, 246 

Paris Geographical Society, 246 

Parka, 469, 471 

Parpi Bai, 215, 219, 226, 229, 231, 232, 233, 
270, 274, 275, 283 

Parsees, 

Parthians, 41 

Pasaguk, 502 

Pasargade, 34 

Pasi Ahun, 175, 177 

Pas-rabat, 125 

Pass-Hater, The, 337: 

Pathans, 379, 381 

Patterson, Captain, 382 

Pavalo-Shweikowsky, General, 113, 114, 183 


INDEX 


Pavloff, M., 240, 241%, 242 

Payer, 15 

Peacock-throne, 62 

Pears, Colonel, 380 

Pedang-tsangpo River, 516 

Peking, 200, 213, 216, 235, 236, 237, 430, 
435) 477 

Peling, 350, 352, 403 

Pema Tense, 475 

Pemba Tsering, 506 

Penna, Orazio della, 317 

Pera, 54 

Percy, Lord, 378 

Pereira, iseneral Edward, 419 

Peri-bakshi, 141 

Persepolis, 34, 65 


Persia, 24, 32, 35, 36, 38, 45, 65, 93, 109, 


377 

Persian Gulf, 36, 38 

Persian Language, 24, 301 

Persians, 19, 22, 27, 43, 81, 91, 95 

Perutse-tso, 369 

Pesu Temple, 444 

Peterhof, 374 

Petrovsk, 373 

Petrovsky, Nicolai Feodorovitch, 98, 99, 123, 
136, 159, 178, 206, 248, 297, 332, 373 

Piatorka, 112 

Pievtsoff, General, 192, 200, 279 

Pilaf, 49 

Pilgrim Disguise, In, 342 

Pilgrims, Mongolian, 316, 317 

Pilquist, Mr. and Mrs., 238 

Pima, 186 

Ping-fan, 237 

Pinzoling Monastery, 441 

Pir, 36 

Pir-i-San Pass, 36 

Place of Martyrdom, The, 84 

Plevna, 57, 87 

Pobrang, 383 

Pompeii, 329 

Pond, Major, 246 

Poo, 523, 524 

Pool of God's Gift, The, 170 

Pool-tso, Lake, 392 

Poonch, 381, 470, 479, 485 

Poonch, Maharajah of, 379 

Popocatepetl, Mt., 402 

Poru-tso, Lake, 515 

Potat, 185 

Potala, 419 

Przhevalsky, N. M., 53, 103, 110, 142, 192, 
200, 202 

Pul-i-Pulur Bridge, 74 

Pulkova Observatory, 200 

Pundar, 515 

Pundi-gompa Monastery, 468 

Pundits, Indian, 317 

Puntsuk, 401 

Putin, Mrs., 443 

Precious King, The, 428 


INDEX 


Precious Teacher, The, 428 
Prince of Wales, 246 

Prisoner of Tibetans, A, 352, 499 
Promised Land, The, 377 
Protestants, 382 

Przhevalsky, 232, 244, 304, 356 


R 


Rabat, 115 

Raga-tasam, 451, 502 

Raga-tsangpo River, 413, 436, 441, 442, 450, 
451 

Rages, 30, 64, 66 

Rages, Sacred Fire of, 89 

Rahna, 73 

Rajputana, 381 

Rajputs, 379, 381, 385 

Rakas-tal Lake, 468 

Ramadan, 45, 54, 57, 148 

Rang-kul Lake, 120 

Ranier, Mt., 404 

Rartse, 518 

Raskolniki, Russian, 280 

Ravalpindi, 372 

Rawling, Captain Cecil, 
485, 490 

Red Cave, The, 482 

Red Gallery, The, 423, 432 

Red River, The, 248 

Red Sand, The, 238 

Red Water, The, 116 

Rehim Ali, 386, 389, 391, 396, 398, 399, 462 

Rehim Bai, 114 

Resht, 24, 25, 60 

Retreat, Death-Strewn, 310 

Retzius Gold Medal, 209 

Reuter’s, 357, 478 

Ribbach, 372 

Richthofen, Baron Ferdinand von, 53, 109, 
200, 246, 331 

Ridley, 236 

Rigihloma, 515 

Rigistan, 95, 124 

Rijnhart, Dr. Susie C., 235 

Rijnhart, Mr., 235 

Rinche Dorche, 507 

Rindor, 507 

Riochung, 490 

Riza, Grave of Imam, 77, 83, 85 

Robert, Alexander, 380, 381, 382, 386, 390, 
396, 397, 398, 404, 406, 408, 415, 422, 


452, 453, 458, 470, 478 
Roberts, Lord, 378 


Robinson Crusoe, 171 

Roborovski, 279 

Robsang, 393, 395, 405, 407, 411, 415, 453, 
466, 468, 472, 473 

Rockhill, 347, 356 

Romans, 41 

Rome, 54, 327 


375, 392, 419, 454, 


509 


Roof of the World, The, 109, 125, 244 

Roosevelt, President, 379 

“Rose Garden,” by Sadi, 35 

Rosi Mollah, 361 

Roslak, 215 

Rostov, 18 

“Rostov-Odessa,” S. S., 59 

Royal Geographical Society, 246, 375 

Rub Das, 410 

Rudok, 369 

“Ruins of Desert Cathay,” 
Stein, 209 

Ruler of the Caucasus, 18 

Ruler of the East, 18 

Rungma, 415 

Russell, Lord, 379 


by Sir Aurel 


Russia, 106, 113, 119, 123, 134, 297, 352, 
374, 478 

Russian Language, 345 

Russian Turkestan, 96, 97, 99, 109, 113, 


247, 281 
Russians, 19, 81, 111, 403 
Russo-Japanese War, 87 
Russo-Turkish War, 87 


Ryder, 375, 381, 419, 451, 455, 458, 477 


Sabzevar, 82 

Sachu-tsangpo River, 347, 358, 361 

Sadi, 35 

Sadik, 479, 497 

Said Abdul Ahad, Emir, 106 

Said Akhram Bai, 206, 207 

Said Murad, 92 

St. Anna, Order of, 374 

St. Helena, 378 

St. Isaac’s Church, 17 

St Petersburg, 17, 87, 108, 109, 192, 200, 
243, 246, 374 

St. Sophia, Church of, 54, 56 

Saitseff, Captain, 114, 120, 134, 248 

Saka-dsong, 451, 452, 453, 492, 502, 
505, 506, 510, 515 

Sakia, Son of, 466 

Sakka, 7% 

Sakyamuni Buddha, 429, 441 

Sale Bek, 85 

Salmanasar, 64 

Samarkand, 47, 87, 89, 90, 103, 106, 107, 
110 

Samde-puk, 444 

Sampo Singi, 347 

Samye-la Pass, 502, 508, 509, 512 

Sand, The, 272 

Sand Gate, The, 138 

San Diego, 419 

Sand River, The, 201 

Sand-Sea, The, 146 

San Francisco, 109 

Sangmo-bertik-la Pass, 509, 512 


503, 


540 


Sanskar, 382 

Sapor, King, 330 

Sardanapalus, 40 

Sargasso Sea, 259 

Sarik-buran, 259 

Sarik-kol, raz 

Sarik-kol Mts., 120 

Sarik-kol Valley, 121, 122, 129 

Sartangs, Mongolian, 319 

Sart Kashgar, 100 

Sarts, 91, 99, 124 

Sassanids, 41, 89 

Satlej River, 460, 461, 468, 471, 521, 523 

“Scientific Results of a Journey in Central 
Asia,” by Hedin, 375 

Scott, Sir Robert Falcon, 397 

Scutari, 58 

Sea-of-Light Diamond, 63 

Seat of Royalty, The, 27 

Secretary of State for India, 317 

Sect of the Virtuous, The, 431 

Sefeed-Rud River, 26 

Sela-la Pass, 412, 413, 417, 443, 449 

Selim I, Sultan, | 

Selipuk, 517, 518, 521 

Selipuk-gompa Monastery, 515, 517 

Selling-tso, Lake, 361 

Semenoff, 246 

Semiryetchensk, 102, 249 

Semnan, 79 

Semoku, 506, 507, 509 

Sennacherib, 40 

Sera Monastery, 431 

“Serindia,’ by Sir A. Stein, 329 

Serolung-gompa Convent, 460 

Serpun-lam, 501 

Shabdez, 50 

Shadibek Karaol Begi Shigaul, 106 

Shagdur, 280, 294, 295, 297, 298, 300, 316, 
x7, 318,) 319) 321, 922, 923), 9931) Sam, 
334, 335, 336, 339, 340, 342, 343, 344, 


345, 346, 347, 348, 352, 356, 372, 373 
Shahidullah, 482 


Shahinshah, 72 

Shah-i-sindeh, 95 

Shahr-i-sabs, 106, 107 

Shah-yar, 197, 209 

Shakangsham Mts., 498, 513 

Shansa-dsong, 411 

Sharud, 81 

Shat-el-Arab River, 38 

Shawe, Dr., 372 

Shayok, 480 

Shayok Valley, 481 

Shemen-tso Lake, 487 

Shepherd Disguise, 489 

Shereb Lama, 334, 335, 336, 338, 339, 340, 
342, 343, 345, 346, 347, 348, 352, 353, 
354, 356, 364, 373, 403 

Shiah Funeral Procession, 61 

Shib-la Pass, 413 

Shi Darin, 205 


INDEX 


Shigatse, 411, 413, 415, 416, 418, 419, 420, 
421, 422, 427, 430, 435, 436, 443, 451, 


455, 456, 481, 482 
Shigatse-dsong, 419, 436 


Shipki-la Pass, 523, 524 

Shir Ali Khan, Emir, 183 

Shiraz, 35, 36, 93 

Shirge-chapgan River, 294 

Sho-lo, 237, 239 

Shovo-tso, Lake, 516, 517 

Shukur Ali, 382, 462, 464 

Shuru-tso Lake, 450 

Shuster, 79 

Siberia, 15, 100, 200, 243 280, 374 

Sierra Nevada Range, 133 

Sikkim, 423 

Simla, 376, 377, 379, 380, 384, 521 
Singer, 280 

Singi-kabab, 475 

Si-ning, 230, 236 

Sin-i-sefeid Pass, 36 

Sirchung, 443 

Sir-daria River, 94, 96, 104, 112 
Sirkin, 249, 271, 273, 280, 294, 297, 298, 332, 
_ 333) 334, 335,.336, 339, 343, 358, 372 
Sistan, 377 

Sitara, 95 

Siva, 460, 461, 474 

Sixty Springs, The, 280, 321 
“Skandha Purana,” 461 

Skobeleff, General, 81, 87, 88, 120 
Sleeping Town, The, 325, 331, 369 
Sofia, 52 

Sogdiana, 90, 93 

Solang Undy, 357 

Solfatara, 73 

Soma-tsangpo River, 513 
Sonamarg, 381 

Sonam Kunchuk, 479, 485 

Sonam Ngurbu, 517 

Sonam Tsering, 382, 383, 392, 396 
Son of Brahma, The, 458 

Sonum, 229 

“Southern Tibet,” by Hedin, 469, 519 
South Russia, 17 

Spitsbergen, 15, 244 

Spring-Rice, Sir Cecil, 378 

Srinagar, 372, 373, 379, 380, 381 


‘Stamboul, 54, 58 


Stanley, Henry M., 15, -246;: 397 

Staresta, 110, 111 

Stein, Sir Aurel, 209, 329 

Stockholm, 15, 17, 53, 54, 67, 96, 108, 200, 
244, 245, 264, 325, 333, 375 

Stoddart, Colonel, 91 

Stogh, Rajah of, 383 

Strachey, Henry, 469 

Stralsund, 52 

Street of the Ambassadors, The, 240 

Stupa, 289 

Suan, 479, 480, 483, 485, 511, 521 

Su-bashi, 126 


INDEX 


Sufi-kurgan, 97 

Suk-el-Gazl Minaret, 42 

Sultan Bayasid Mosque, 81 
Sultanetabad Palace, 77 
Sumdang-tsangpo River, 516 
Sung-shu-choang, 237 

Superior, Lake, 111 

Surakhani, 65 

Sur-la Pass, 516 

Surnge-la Pass, 518 

Susa, 35 

Sweden, 63, 106, 240, 242, 319, 352, 407 
Swedes, 27 

Swedish Cavalry Marches, 258 
Swedish Geographical Society, 209 
Swedish Legation 243 

Swedish Minister in London, 380 
Swedish National Anthem, 258 
Swedish Runestones, 330 

Syria 327 


T 


Tabie+tsaka, Lake, 515 

Tabriz, 377 

Tachibana, Dr., 329 

Lael, 236, 233 ; 

Tagarma, 125 

Tage-tsangpo River, 460 

Taghaumbash-daria River, 181 

Taghdumbash, 113 

Taghliks, 214, 215, 216, 218, 219, 224 

Tagla Tsering, 514 

Taiga, 272; 273 

Tajiks, 91, 184 

Tajinoor Mongols, 227 

Takbur, 452 

Takhterevan, 82 

Tak-i-Bostan Grotto, 50 

Takkar, 496, 498, 500, 505, 516, 524 

Tak-Kesra Castle, 41 

Takla-makan, 188 

Takla-makan Desert, 139, 205, 211, 244, 249, 
259, 272 

Ta-la Pass, 413, 414 

Talkan, 148 

Tamboff Forests, 109 

Tamdy, 111 

Tamerlane’s Gateway, 96 

Tamerlane the Great, 35, 42, 85, 89, 91, 92, 
93, 95, 99, 106, 112, 429 

Tamlung-la Pass, 460 

Tana-bagladi, Lake, 274 

Tanak, 415, 416 

T’ang Dynasty, 186 

Tang Darin, 435, 436, 451, 455 

Tang-i-Allah Akbar Pass, 35 

Tang-la, 316 

Tangma, 441 


541 


Tangut Robbers, 230 

Tanguts, 347 

Tanjur, 440 

Tanski, 383, 478 

Tarantass, 18, 28, 103, 110, 111, 112 

Tarchen-labrang Monastery, 474 

Targo-gangri Mts., 450, 451, 513 

Targo-tsangpo River, 450 

Targyaling-gompa Monastery, 455 

Tarim River, 190, 193, 197, 198, 199, 200, 
202, 209, 260, 261, 280, 281, 293, 294, 
295, 298, 418 

Tarok-tso Lake, 502, 512, 514, 515, 518 

Tarting-gompa, 439 

Tarting-gompa Monastery, 438 

Tasam, 451, 452, 456, 503 

Tashi, 413, 451, 455 

Tashi-gembe Monastery, 415, 440 

Tashi Lama, 394, 409, 411, 420, 421, 430, 
432, 434, 437, 440, 463 

Tashi-lunpo, 349, 407, 410, 412, 415, 418, 
421, 422, 428, 430, 455 

Tashkent, 87, 96, 103, 110, 111, 112, 297, 332 

Tash-Rabat Pass, 102 

‘Tatars, 19, 22, 23; 24, 27, 28, 85,193,210 

Tatlik-bulok Well, 300 

Taurus Mountains, 40 

Tavek-kel, 179, 187, 206, 207, 208 

Tayep-parva-la Pass, 516 

Tegnér, 36 

Teheran, 24, 28, 30, 36, 44, 50, 51, 60, 61, 
62, 63, 64, 67, 79, 73, 75, 77) 93, 376, 377 

Tekke- -Turkomans, 87 

Telega, 18 

Telesmat, 153 

Temirbash, King, 49 

Temir Bek, 197 

Temirlik, 301, 311, 314, 315, 316, 352 

Tengis-Bai Pass, 115 

Tengi-tar Glen, 125 

Tengri-nor, 375 

Tenkar, 234, 235 

Tepe-i-Salam Hill, 84 

Terek Mountains, 18 

Terek-dovan Pass, 97 

Teresken, 130 

Teri-nam-tso Lake, 451, 508, 513, 514 

Testi-lachen-la Pass, 475, 477 

Teta-la Pass, 513 

Thamas I, Shah, 27 

Thamas II, Shah, 85 

Thermopyle, 232 

Three Musketeers, The, 458, 459 

Tian-shan, 97 

Tian-shan Mts., 102, 113, 256, 280 

Tiberias, 462 

Tibet, 64, 99, 115, 178, 200, 213, 22%, 242, 
278, 293, 294, 297, 300, 312, 331, 360, 
375, 377, 378, 379, 380, 382, 384, 408, 
421, 428, 478, 523, 525 

Tibetan-British Treaty, 434, 435 

Tibetan Ideographs, 225 


542 


Tibetan Language, 48f 

Tibetans, 235, 340, 342, 343, 344, 345, 352, 
356, 360, 378, 392, 406, 408, 410, 413, 
415, 429, 436, 450, 455, 458, 462, 469, 
470, 475, 477; 479, 493, 496, 513, 521 

Tibet to India, 368 

Tientsin University, 242 

Tiflis, 19, 52, 59, 376 

Tiger, The, 215 

Tigris River, 38, 40, 42 

Tikkenlik, 201 

Tillah Karch College, 95 

Tirtapuri, 521, 522 

Togda Bai, 175 

Togda Bek, 206, 207, 208 

Togda Khoja Bek, 140, 141 

Togda Shah, 206, 207 

Togdasin, 314, 315, 316 

Togdasin Bek, 121, 122, 126, 127, 135, 136, 
206 

T0-j0, 239 

Tokchen, 458, 460, 517, 518, 519, 521 

Tokta Ahun, 293, 300, 302, 304, 315, 316, 
318, 319, 331, 332 

Toktamet Bek, 279 

Tokus-kum Desert, 268 

Tomsk, 99 

Tong, 184, 442, 445, 449 

Tonga, 372 

Tong-burun Pass, 248 

Tong-tso Lake, 482, 495 

Tonkuz-basste, 190 

Topka, 401 

Tossun-nor, Lake, 230 

Tower of Babel, The, 40 

Tower of Silence, The, 66, 67, 78 

Townshend, 379 

Tract of Terror, The, 81 

Tradum, 456, 457 

Transalai Mts., 115, 116, 118, 520 

Transbaikalia, 280, 373 

Transbaikalian Cossack Army, 280 

Transcaspia, 87 

Transcaspian Ry., 87 

Transhimalaya Mts., 417, 440, 442, 449, 
455, 457, 475, 476, 477, 501, 502, 503, 
512, 513, 515, 516, 518, 519, 520 

Transhimalayan Passes, 449 

Transoxiana, 90 

Trans-Siberian Ry., 243 

Transvaal, The, 379 

Travelling Companion, The, 215 

Trebizond, 377 

Trembling Towers Minarets, 81 

Treschow, F. W., 54 

Troika, 18, 28, 95, 104, 111 

Tsogan-nor, Lake, 234 

Tsaidam, 230, 242 

Tsaidam Mongols, 225, 227 

Tsaktserkan, 422, 426, 436 

Tsamba, 228, 358, 445, 466, 471, 479, 483, 
499, 509, 518 


INDEX 


Tsangarshar River, 369 

Tsangpo River, 375, 412, 415, 416, 418, 436, 
437, 441, 442, 449, 451, 456, 457, 506, 
514, 519, 521 

Tsangpo Valley, 455 

Tsangpo-Brahmaputra River, 458, 495 

Tsaritsyn, 21 

Tsarskoe Selo, 243 

Tsering, 382, 383, 386, 395, 396, 397, 405, 
413, 422, 452, 453, 462, 472 

Tsering Dava, 4o1 

Tsering Tundup Lama, 468 

Tsin Dynasty, 327 

Tso-kavala Pool, 474 

Tso-mavang, Lake, 460, 461 

Tso-nek, Lake, 351 ‘ 

Tsongka, 509 

Tsong Kapa, 236, 429, 431 

Tso-ngombo, Lake, 369, 371 

Tsongpun Tashi, 498, 499, 500 

Tso-rinpoche, Lake, 461 

Tsumtul-pu-gompa Monastery, 474 

Tubges, 480, 485, 492, 493, 496, 509, 512, 
521 

Tugden Monastery, 415 

Tugu-gompa Monastery, 463, 464, 466, 468 

Tu-ho-lo, 186 

Tuksum, 457 

Tulai, 89 

Tundup Galsan, 395, 410 

Tundup Lama, 521 

Tundup Sonam, 392, 394, 396, 398, 400, 402, 
413, 451, 455, 464, 475 

Turan, 89 

Tura-sallgan-ui, 272, 273, 280, 281, 294 

Turdu, 135 

Turdu Bai, 248, 271, 274, 277, 294, 297, 298, 
302, 305, 310, 315, 318, 333, 334, 336, 
339, 358 

Turkestan, 17, 87, 107, 112, 121 

Turkey, 45 

Turki, 381 

Turkomans, 81, 85, 87 

Turks, 39, 43, 85, 91, 379 

Turugart Pass, 102 


Ujiri, 20 

Ula, 226 

Ulan-alesu Desert, 238 

Ullug-art, 180 

Ullug-art Pass, 180 

Ullug-chat, 98 

Umballa, 182 

Uncle Tom, 497 

Unexplored Territory, 376, 392, 406, 512 

United States, 242 

“Unveiling of Lhasa, The,’ by Edmund 
Candler, 357 


INDEX 


Upal, 180 
Upper Brahmaputra River, 375, 412, 413, 


441 
Upper Sand Lake, The, 304 
Upsala, University of, 53 
Ural Cossacks, 112 
Ural River, 111 
Urga, 239, 334, 354, 422 
Urumchi, 206, 280 
Uzbegs, 85, 91 


Vakjir Pass, 181 

Valenki, 97 

Valerian, Emperor, 330 
Vambéry, Arminius, 36, 91 
Van de Putte, 317 

Vanka, 336, 373 

Vatican, The, 423, 426, 430 
eVepa,’ §.S..15,' 54 

Venice, 254 

Verestchagin, 95 

Verne, Jules, 15 

Vernoye, 373 

Viceregal Lodge at Simla, 377, 525 
Victoria, Queen, Image of, 380 
Victoria Nyanza, Lake, 111 
Virgin Mary, 237 
Vladikavkaz, 18 
Vladivostok, 18 

Viassoff, Mr., 25 

Vojlok, 497 

Volga River, 21, 109, 373 


WwW 


Waddell, Colonel, 419 

W akil-et-dovlet-i-Inglis, 48 
Wang, 242 

Wang-yeh-fu, 238 

Wei Dynasty, 327 

Wellby, Captain, 385 
Wellcome, Burroughs, 380, 397, 429 
Western Persia, 44 

West Turkestan, 198 

White, The, 141, 161 

White Lake, The, 234 

White Puppy, 381, 395, 408, 412 
White River, The, 2 

White Saddle Pass, The, 36 
Whitney, Mt., 133 

Wiesbaden, 325 

Winter’s Abode, 417 

Wolf, The, 215 

Wood, 375, 419 


943 
Wrangel, Count, 380 
Wrewski, Baron von, 96, 113 
x 
Xenophon, 65, 71, 336 
Xerxes, 35, 77 
we 
Yahiya Khan, 62 
Yak River, 234 
Yakhtan, 113 
Yakub Bek, 99, 100, 190, 382 
Yallok, 353 
Yamba, 248, 250, 316, 332, 342 
Yam-bulak Glacier, 122, 129, 132 
Yamdu Tsering, 368 
Yamen, 178, 198, 236, 433 
Yamshchik, 110 
Yangi-hissar, 124 
Yangi-kol, 270, 271, 273, 283 
Yangi-shahr, 100, 138 
Yango-gompa Monastery, 463 
Yardang-bulak Spring, 286 
Yarkand, 141, 185, 250, 481, 482 
Yarkand-daria River, 140, 142, 174, 181, 
184, 211, 244, 250, 251, 254, 260 
Yatung, 434 
Yehim Bai, 127 
Yellow Caps, The, 431, 438, 456 
Yellow Dog, 479, 481, 493, 494, 497 
Yellow River, The, 235, 238 
Yenisei River, 15, 243 
Yeshil-kul, Lake, 134, 390 
Ye-shung, 415 
Yezd, 65 
Yezdegird III, King, 42, 89 
Yike-tsohan-gol, 228, 229 
Yildiz Kiosk, 57 
Ying-pen, 284 
Yoash Kirghiz, 98 
Yokohama, 15 
Yolbars, 215, 221, 294, 336, 343, 345, 347, 
358, 360 
Yolchi, 142, 144, 147, 149, 153, 154, 156, 


158, 159, 160 
Yoldash I, 128, 134, 138, 141, 153, 154, 156, 
151, 159, 162, 173 


‘Toldash pil, 199, (201, 214, 216,221; 1224, 
227, 225 

Yoldash III, 248, 251, 272, 274, 279, 283, 
298}, 300, 302, 305, 312, 313, 318, 320, 
334, 336, 338, 339, 360, 372 

Yomud Turkomans, 81 

Yong Loh, Emperor, 93 

Younghusband, Col. Sir Francis, 99, 377, 


381, 382, 419 
Yulameika, 120 


544 INDEX 


Yuldus Valley, 28r | Z 
Yumba-matsen, 477 
Yundung Sulting, 439 Zend-Avesta, 65 
Yunduk Tsering, 362, 367 Zendeh-rud River, 32 
Yungchen, 432 Zerafshan River, 96 
Yurt, 115, 116, 121, 124, 126, 128, 131, 134, “Zobeide, Tomb of, 42 
182, 183, 319, 333, 334, 336 Zoji-la Pass, 372, 373, 381 
Yurun-kash River, 187 Zoological Museum of Stockholm High 
Yusur, 206 School, 321 


Yusup Bai, 175, 177 Zoroaster, 65, 66 


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